


the ties that bind (have been broken)

by KASE1248



Series: The Signs of Twelve [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aiden & Ethan (Teen Wolf) are Part of the Pack, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banshee Lydia Martin, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Druid Alan Deaton, Emissary Lydia Martin, Endgame Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Flashbacks, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Good Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jennifer Blake is the Darach, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild Gore, Multi, Never Beta Read, Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore, Past Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s), Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Returns, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, True Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires, Werewolf Hunters, Witch Curses, Witches, past Jennifer Blake/Kali - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2020-11-28 20:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 118,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20972702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KASE1248/pseuds/KASE1248
Summary: It's been twelve years since Deucalion.  Since the Darach.  Since Scott became an Alpha.After high school, things start to settle down in Beacon Hills.  Scott and Derek bring their betas together and form one whole pack to protect the Nemeton and its surrounding territory.  Twelve years later, life is the most 'normal' it's ever been: the pack have made it to graduation, left for college, come back home, and are now forging lives and futures together.That is, until a series of kidnappings turn deadly.





	1. knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, welcome to Circle Backwards 3.0, except this time I finally know what I'm doing.
> 
> The premise of the story is still the same, but I won't go into detail about that so I don't accidentally spoil anything. If any of you from my old account remember my first and second attempts at this story, then some of the preceding content won't be new to you, but some of it still will, thankfully. Many of the details are still being worked out, surrounding one particular aspect at least, but I have the important stuff down.
> 
> My goals for this fic are: 1) complete it in 12 chapters (as you read on, you'll probably understand why); 2) actually finish it; and 3) write a fic you guys will enjoy.
> 
> || **I do not grant permission for anyone to host my work anywhere other than _archiveofourown.org_. I do not support the monetization of my work through third-party sources or apps. Please respect this.** ||

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> setting the scene:
> 
> 12 years after the Darach, the McCall-Hale pack is facing a new threat. Scott is struggling to protect Beacon Hills. Noah faces a break in a year-long case.

**April 9th.**

Scott is already awake when his alarm goes off.

He’s not sure what initially disturbed his sleep. His phone has been silent for most of the night: he keeps it on vibrate so any incoming notifications – like his weather app – aren’t loud enough to be picked up by his werewolf hearing. The sun is still rising, so the light bathing his room is too soft and pale to be obtrusive. His apartment is quiet and undisturbed.

Even Lydia is still fast asleep next to him, her long red hair fanning the pillow. No sign of any nightmares or banshee predictions or anything that could account for his early awakening.

She does, however, grumble at the sound of the alarm – which he quickly snoozes – and burrow deeper under the covers.

But something doesn’t quite feel right.

He’s not sure what it is: everything is fine with the immediate situation. Lydia is next to him, his apartment is the way he left it when he went to sleep and his phone is silent. When he reaches out to his pack bonds, each tether is strong and peaceful; nothing wrong there either.

But deep in his bones, where his wolf burrows itself into him, he feels unsettled. He can’t quite place it, but the more aware of it he becomes, the stronger it gets. It feels like the entire world has been shifted one inch to the left, but he’s still in the same spot.

His alarm blares through the apartment again and he fumbles to disable it properly. Lydia doesn’t need to wake up for another hour or two; he doesn’t want to disturb her sleep.

He, on the other hand, needs to _leave_ for work in an hour, so he makes a move to get up.

He stares hard at the floor for a moment before he stands on it, as if suspicious of its entire existence. The unsettledness thrums through his bones again, but the floor holds his weight, like it always does, and he quickly pushes the feeling to the side.

Nothing’s wrong; so he’s not going to act like it is.

When he gets out of the shower, Lydia’s not in bed.

He almost, _almost_, panics until his nose twitches with the smell of toast. He follows it through to their kitchen, where she’s up and making them breakfast. She’s wearing one of his shirts – she must have grabbed it without looking – and his wolf rumbles in his chest at the sight of it.

“Hey,” he smiles, “I didn’t think you needed to be up this early.”

“I don’t,” she responds, plating him some buttered toast.

“Then why are you?” he asks; not that he’s unhappy to share a meal with her, of course, but they don’t often go off schedule.

“I don’t really know? I thought you woke me up when you got up for your shower, but when I tried to go back to sleep, I couldn’t get comfortable. I had a weird feeling.”

“Like a premonition thing or something else?”

She frowns, thinking about it. “I don’t know. It’s weird. It doesn’t feel like a premonition but it feels like it should?”

He lifts a curious eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, patiently eating his breakfast. He understands better than anyone what it’s like to try to explain to someone what something feels like, when you don’t truly understand it yourself. Or if there aren’t really any words to describe it; like try asking him to describe what pack bonds feel like.

“It’s just,” she struggles to word her thoughts, “when I get a prediction, I get a certain feeling. Like an ominous kind of feeling that someone’s going to die, and this urge to scream in the back of my throat. Right now, I feel… unsettled. I have this faint notion as if someone _might_ die but I don’t feel the need to predict it. It feels like a prediction but it also doesn’t.”

She sighs, sounding vaguely frustrated. It’s been a few years since she struggled with discerning her banshee powers; and that goes back to not knowing how to use them. She’s better now, has experience with them. It’s just… weird to be reminded of when she first uncovered her abilities, before she even knew what they were.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she finally says, even though they both know better than to dismiss weird feelings: it’s basically how they’ve survived so long.

Scott reaches to squeeze her hand in comfort, and changes the subject to try and put them both at ease. He gives her a quick rundown of his day: what appointments he has, when he’ll be available to talk if she needs to, and when he’ll be home later in the day. For the moment, it’s a regular Tuesday morning and he’ll cling to that notion for as long as he can.

He glances at the time and makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I should get going,” he says. “I need to get the surgery ready for my first appointment and my shift starts in ten.”

He ducks around the kitchen island to give Lydia a quick kiss. “Let me know if you have any other weird feelings, okay?”

She smiles and nods. “Be safe, okay?”

He grabs his keys on his way out the door, turning to flash her a confident smile. “Always.”

*

Derek hums as he puts the finishing touches to breakfast, before taking it through to his bedroom. Jennifer is wrapped up in the sheets of his bed, but she blinks awake at the smell of food, and shuffles into a sitting position.

“Morning,” she greets, smiling through a yawn.

“Morning,” he leans down to give her a kiss. “Made you breakfast.”

“In bed?” she asks, like he doesn’t do it every day. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not a big deal. Only bacon and toast.”

She takes a bite of the food, humming in appreciation. “Perfect as always, Derek. You really do spoil me.”

He chuckles, deep in his chest. “Only you.” He observes her with a faint frown. “You feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

“Oh, I’m fine, just tired. Don’t think I slept very well. But I have an early day today, so I can get home for lunch and just relax for the rest of the day.”

“Lucky you. I still have grading to get through. I’m giving a surprise pop quiz to my first couple of classes today.”

She laughs. “First thing in the morning? They’ll hate you for it.”

“They’ll thank me in the long run.”

Derek grabs a slice of bacon before moving to get dressed. They have to be at work in an hour; luckily they both work together so it makes for an easy carpool.

“You’re getting dressed already?” he glances over his shoulder to see Jennifer’s disappointed expression. “We still have a little time before we have to leave.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I really want to get an early start on that grading.”

“All business, no pleasure, huh?” she slides out of bed, leaving the sheets behind. Derek draws her into a kiss before she even realizes he’s right next to her.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he promises against her lips.

“You’d better,” she responds, before slipping away to the shower.

As they’re leaving the apartment, Derek pauses and glances around. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find – other than his apartment looking the way it always does – but there’s an odd tension in the air. It almost feels like being on the edge of a jump scare that never comes.

“Derek!” Jennifer’s voice floats back up the stairs to him, drawing him from his thoughts. “We’re going to be late!”

He shuts the door, locks it and pushes the feeling away, before following his girlfriend out of the building.

*

It is a quiet morning in the Sheriff’s station.

Not that that means anything. Beacon Hills is a small enough town: it tends to be relatively peaceful most of the time. Despite what some of Isaac’s early years as a werewolf had taught him, kidnappings, murders and animal attacks are not the norm.

However, he’s currently pouring over a set of case files: a series of kidnappings. Eleven different people with no apparent connection, disappearing over the last eleven months in the exact same way.

So much for kidnappings not being normal, he thinks.

They have no clues as to why these people had been taken, or who had taken them or where they are now. No connection between them, obvious or otherwise: no common hangouts or friends of friends or even grocery purchases. They all live nearly separate lives, which in a town like Beacon Hills, isn’t impossible, but isn’t easy either.

Of course, there’s a few minor connections here and there: two of them use the same hairdresser; four of them visit the same bar on a various schedules, although never at the same time, it seems; one of them applied to a day care for their child that another was already using. But there’s nothing that spans the entire group, no centre focal point that connects each individual and could explain why they’ve all been taken.

And then there’s the disappearances themselves. Each one is clean and methodical. There’s no sign of a break-in or evidence of a struggle or any sign of a kidnapping, except for the missing people.

There is a pattern, easily distinguishable when you look at the cases together: but the pattern does nothing to identify a suspect.

Each person had been taken from their house. Each disappearance only occurs once a month on the twelfth. In the wake of each disappearance, a small purple flower is left, on top of an odd scorch mark; centred within what looks to be some kind of blast radius, where every item in the room is blown outwards from the wall. Every clock in the house or apartment is stuck at 12am, indicating the time of the kidnapping.

It had taken until the fourth disappearance to discover the pattern – Isaac had been called out to investigate it and had connected with an earlier disappearance that he had also been assigned. It hadn’t been until the fifth disappearance that they found out about the first two. The time in between the disappearances had them slipping through the cracks without someone to connect the dots.

Now Isaac studies the case files for what feels like the hundredth time; searching for any clues that they might have missed before.

Their current theory is magic: between the flower – identified as mandrake – and weird blast radiuses and the odd scent attached to each scene, they believe magic has been used to kidnap the victims; or at the very least, cover up the crime scenes of any evidence.

The significance of the number twelve – between the date and the time and the fact that these disappearances are monthly, suggesting one for each month of the year – is the only other clue they have; and so far all they’ve learned from it is when someone will go missing.

There’s still no clues as to who will be taken.

That’s partly why Isaac is reading through the case again. The next disappearance should be Friday at midnight, during a full moon, and the twelfth disappearance since they began.

He wants to try and find something that will help them prevent this kidnapping and maybe even help them find the people that have already been taken. No one knows why these people were targeted but the Pack is clinging to the hope that it’s less than nefarious, since no bodies have turned up.

_Yet_, his mind supplies, helpfully reminding him of the last time people went missing in numbers.

The other reason is the weird feeling he had this morning since he woke up. Like an itch under his skin that something’s wrong. Or that something might go wrong. The only notable issue plaguing Beacon Hills is this series of kidnappings, so naturally he had decided that is where his focus should go.

The itch hadn’t gone away, only gotten stronger as the day passes.

Isaac finally takes a breather from pouring over the case files. He leans back in his seat, casts a glance around the room at the other officers, busy with their own paperwork. He seeks out the time, wondering how long he’d been lost in his research.

It’s barely a few minutes past noon. The itch burns in his bones. And that’s when the call comes in.

*

“Is it him?” Sheriff Noah Stilinski asks, a weary frown on his face.

Twelve years and Isaac still feels both awed and intimidated by his presence. They’ve worked together for only a few years less than that and Isaac has become one of his most trusted confidants within the job, and his go-to for any supernatural-related cases, due to his pack connections. And, well, werewolfism.

Isaac crouches on the ground and examines the scene with hard eyes. As if looking for any evidence that could dispute the conclusion that both the Sheriff and he are coming to.

“It’s him.”

The very same face Isaac had been staring at less than an hour ago. The only difference being that Isaac had been looking at a picture and now he’s looking at a body.

“Damn it.”

“I don’t know if you wanna get the daughter in for an official identification,” Isaac finally stands and turns to his boss. “But this matches the I.D. we recovered from his apartment. Jeffery Williams, late 60s, dark hair, blue eyes, birthmark on the left side of his neck.”

“How long has he been dead?”

Isaac sniffs the air delicately – timing a death based on how a body smells is not a skill he’s particularly happy to know but at least it helps with his job. “Not long. I’d hazard a guess at twelve hours. Definitely less than a day. Definitely less than twelve months.”

“And he was the first?”

“Yes, sir,” Isaac nods, checking his notes like he doesn’t know them off by heart at this point. “Vanished from his house, 12 am on the 12th of April last year.”

“And what are the chances that this isn’t sacrificial?”

“Zero,” Isaac says immediately. “Even without the way we found the body, just finding it in the first place firmly plants this in the ‘supernatural deaths’ camp.”

They both take another look at the body. The man is stripped naked, covered in the foliage of the surrounding trees. His wrists, ankles and neck are bound with some kind of twine: it doesn’t look like the kind you’d buy in a hardware store, more homemade from some kind of plant. There’s a brand on his chest that reminds Isaac vaguely of Derek’s tattoo. There’s no visible indication of how he died.

“Can you smell anything else?” Noah asks. “If he was poisoned or maybe the scent of whoever killed him? Or if he was even killed here?”

Isaac shakes his head. The Preserve is filled with too many scents – from the hikers on nearby trails to nature itself – to single out any one in particular that could be suspect; except the smell of death, of course. There’s not even the distinct burn of magic in the air, although that could have easily dissipated in the time it had taken for the body to be discovered. Assuming that Mr Williams had been killed here, and not just body dumped.

“We should probably tell Scott,” Isaac points out but he makes no move to grab his phone.

“He’s at work, isn’t he?” Noah waits for Isaac’s nod. “Let’s get the scene examined and the paperwork filed first. Then we’ll let the Pack know. No point in bothering them in the middle of the day.”

Isaac simply nods again. They both know Noah just wants to confirm that the death is sacrificial in nature, just wants to be completely sure of the truth before they admit it.

After all, it could just be some kind of fluke.

Right?

*

When Scott gets home from work, Lydia has the wedding file spread out on the kitchen counter. She’s been building it ever since they got engaged; she wants the perfect wedding and Scott is ever-willing to give it to her. The longer it takes to plan, the more time they have to save up for it, after all.

“Hey,” she greets, pouring over ideas for flower arrangements. “Come over here and tell me what you think of these colour schemes.”

When he doesn’t respond, she glances up at him and spots the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“They found a body.”

“Okay?”

Scott sighs. “It’s Jeffery Williams, the first disappearance.”

Lydia frowns. “How did he die?”

“They’re still figuring that out. Isaac says he was found in the woods around lunchtime. Naked, branded with some kind of symbol, and his hands and feet were tied.”

“Any clues as to who did it or why?”

“Nope,” Scott shakes his head. “Just the body. Just like last time.”

Lydia’s face twists and she turns away from her wedding planning. Her scent spikes sharply. “That probably explains this morning. When I thought I was trying to predict a death. Maybe I was. When did he die?”

“Isaac says they estimated around midnight,” Scott crosses the room to reassure her on instinct. “Which means you would have screamed earlier. Maybe you just weren’t supposed to predict this one.”

“Predicting death is my whole job, Scott,” she snaps. “It doesn’t exactly differentiate between normal deaths and supernatural deaths. I learned how to do that myself and I should have felt this one coming. I should have known.”

“Hey,” Scott rests his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “There’s something more at work here. Even I’ve been feeling off lately. Maybe this one is different. I mean, we still don’t know for sure that it’s a sacrifice. Could be a prank gone wrong.”

She gives him a flat look but allows herself to be appeased. “Maybe.”

Scott sighs and drops a gentle kiss on her forehead, the tension in the room dropping to minimal. “Now, what were you saying about colour schemes?”

Lydia’s attention redirects back to the wedding planning, pulling out a few cut-outs of flower arrangements. Scott smiles fondly and offers his opinion on her ideas.

It’s not until they’re having dinner that Lydia brings it up again. In the wake of the body turning up, neither of them had felt like cooking; instead, they’re sharing a Chinese take-out.

“Friday’s the next disappearance,” she says.

“I know,” Scott responds, because he does. He’s been counting the days ever since they first discovered the pattern. It’s also a full moon on Thursday night; it’s good timing for once. He’s hoping the boost of power from the moon will aid them in patrolling Beacon Hills and hopefully catching the kidnappers in the act.

“I mean,” Lydia amends, “maybe there won’t be one. Since they might be sacrificing their current victims now.”

Scott chews thoughtfully on his chicken. “They’ve already established their pattern. 12 am, on the 12th. Friday makes it 12 months. As much as I’d like to believe otherwise, it’d be very odd for them to break the pattern now. All we can hope for now is to catch whoever _they_ are and save everyone else they’ve taken. Hopefully before they kill anyone else.”

Lydia finds herself nodding in agreement. Scott’s optimism can be infectious sometimes; but really, Lydia’s just as invested in protecting the town and saving lives as he is. A noble goal, of course; if not for the selfish part of her that just wants to predict less death.

She would never outwardly complain about her powers, but they can be… burdensome sometimes. Between the voices and the feelings of impending doom and the fact that she can _predict death_, it’s more of a curse than a gift.

Especially when it doesn’t even work properly.

*

**April 10th.**

“He’s missing his what?”

It’s Wednesday, the night before the full moon and, technically, the next predicted disappearance. Scott’s called an emergency pack meeting to discuss the newest development in the case, if you could call it that. Most of the pack are in attendance; Ethan’s at a date night with Danny and the parental units are pack-adjacent, rather than formal members.

“His brain,” Allison repeats patiently. Derek looks as confused as Scott had when she’d told him earlier. The rest of the pack – the ones in the room, at least – wear similar expressions.

“Is that normal?” one of the newer betas, Sammi, asks – and by newer, she’s only been with them for around six years. “For sacrifices, I mean?”

Neither she nor the other two betas – David and Felix – they’d picked up over the years had been in Beacon Hills during the first spate of sacrificial deaths.

“Not sure,” Lydia’s the one who responds. “We don’t deal with many ritualistic killings around here. This is only our second encounter, surprisingly enough. Assuming, of course,” she glances at her fiancé, “that it _is_ sacrificial.”

“What would they want with his brain?” Cora asks.

“Maybe they wanna eat it,” David responds, almost immediately. He gets varying looks of confusion and annoyance. “Like zombies or something.”

“Zombies aren’t real,” Derek lets out a long-suffering sigh like this isn’t their first time discussing the reality of zombies. “And ghouls don’t feed on brains without feeding on the rest of the body first. And that doesn’t account for the brand or the bindings.”

“Speaking of,” Scott directs the attention towards Felix, “have you found out anything about either of those?”

“Uh,” Felix flushes faintly at all the attention, “the brand is a Celtic knot. A triquetra? Somewhat religious symbol, associated with Christianity. Father, Son, Holy Spirit, that kind of thing? But the symbol’s actually older than that, has a lot of Pagan symbolism. But I’m still looking into it. And I’m waiting for Dr Deaton to identify the plant used to make the bindings before I can do any research on that.”

Perks of working in a library include being able to read books on shift without checking them out. Felix is still locating all the books about Pagan rituals and Celtic symbolism; it’s only been a day since the body was discovered.

“I’ve been looking through some of the books Deaton gave me,” Lydia adds. “There’s a lot of information in there and some of it isn’t accurate anymore and other parts still need translated. So far, I haven’t found anything but it might take me a while before I do.”

Scott nods slowly. He looks somewhat tense, and Lydia reaches to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

It’s been a few years since they’ve had any problems bigger than a rogue werewolf or stray witch. And up until Tuesday, these people were just missing. It could have been anything, from Fae trickery to illness to even religious reasons, if they were willing to believe it. But now with the first disappearance turning up dead; it narrows the possibilities down to spell work – and still Fae trickery, to be honest.

But another part of it is that, as their pack has grown and matured, they’ve become powerful and knowledgeable and formidable. Part of the reason that it’s been a few years since they’ve had any real problems is because they’re good at tackling them, good at finding the source and taking care of it before any real damage leaves its mark.

This case, however, these kidnappings and now a murder; they have no clues, no information and no idea how to solve it, or even where to start. It’s like the early years all over again, like being back in high school the first time people were being sacrificed.

They never did find the Darach, after all.

“Tomorrow night is still the full moon,” Scott announces. “And it’s still the next predicted disappearance. This pattern of 12 is very blatant, it’d be out of character for the kidnapper to change their routine now. So the plan stays the same too. We get out there, and patrol the town, looking for anything strange: activity, smells, sights. Anything.”

Around the room, each pack member gives their assent.

Derek glances at Jennifer, who’s been standing silently in the corner for the entire meeting.

“You alright?” he asks gently. “You’re very quiet.”

She looks at him and purses her lips. “Last time there were sacrifices, someone accused me of being the killer. I guess I’m just waiting for that penny to drop again.”

The room falls silent, like a shadow crossed over it.

“We still don’t know for sure that these are sacrificial,” Scott says, which is a really bad attempt at reassurance. “But that won’t happen this time,” he quickly adds. “You’re one of us. If you were the Darach, we would have found out by now. We trust you.”

“I know you do,” Jennifer relaxes a touch and smiles. “I just remember what it was like back then, when you didn’t trust me. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“It won’t,” Derek reaches to comfort her. “Trust us.”

She doesn’t respond to that but indicates that the conversation is over and the pack take their attention off of her, returning to their discussion about the kidnappings.

Only Lydia sees her smirk when she thinks no one is looking.

*

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own tomorrow night?” Isaac asks worriedly when they get home from Derek’s apartment.

Allison laughs. “I’ll be fine. It’s not my first full moon, it won’t be my last. I can survive one night without my handsome police deputy.”

Isaac flushes at the words. “But it’s your first night since… you know,” he gestures at her person. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats. “I’ll be with Lydia and Cora. We’re going to read through all of Deaton’s books and Derek’s, to see if we can find anything that can help us solve our mysterious disappearances, and now death.”

“Okay,” Isaac does not look remotely appeased, so Allison draws him into a hug so he can scent her; that usually helps to relax him.

“Maybe you should sit this one out,” he mumbles into her neck a few minutes later.

“What?”

Isaac draws back from the embrace. “Maybe you should sit this one out,” he repeats. “Like all of it. It’s a lot of stress, and stress isn’t good for you.”

“Stress has never been good for me, or any of us, for that matter. I didn’t let it stop me before, I won’t let it stop me now.”

“But–”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Allison cuts him off firmly, “nothing has changed. Not yet, at least.” She hesitates when she sees his expression. “I’ll try to take it easy though, if that would make you feel better.”

It’s the only compromise she’s willing to give so he jumps at it. “And you’ll call me if you feel weird or sick or anything, right?”

She sighs fondly. “I will, but I’ll be fine, Isaac, I promise.” She pulls him into a kiss, as if to seal the promise, and then Isaac returns to scenting her neck.

They hold onto each other for at least another half hour.

*

**April 11th.**

It’s the morning of the full moon.

Derek can feel it in his bones when he wakes up: the call of his wolf, pulling his control to the very brink. And it’s only the morning.

If he dug a little deeper, maybe he would feel that there’s more than just the moon in play. Perhaps there’s an odd tension in the air, like being on the edge of a jump scare that never comes. And under even that, maybe there’s the sensation of the winds of change. Something else about to happen on top of everything that already is.

But it all feels jumbled up in the call of the moon and so he doesn’t dig deeper, he just assumes he’s anxious for nightfall.

Jennifer is still asleep next to him, so she’s not the one clattering around in his kitchen. Since he hadn’t woken up when they’d arrived, they must be familiar to him; when he scents the air, he realizes it’s Cora.

He slides out of bed and gets decent enough to greet her.

She’s violently slamming a cupboard closed when he makes it to the kitchen. There’s a scowl burning her face, but he can see it’s more frustration and desperation than anger. She gets a little pent up around full moons; he thought she’d been better the last couple of years but apparently something had set her off about this one.

“Everything alright?” he asks lightly.

“Fine,” she grits out, almost shattering a glass in her grip.

“So you’re trying to destroy my kitchen because…?”

She sighs and puts the glass down gently. “Sorry,” she says, less angry and more upset. “It’s the full moon tonight.”

“I know. We’ve been talking about it for the last few days.”

“I know,” she parrots back at him.

“I thought you were better with it now?” Behind Derek, Jennifer appears in the doorway.

“I was,” Cora nodded. “Until people started disappearing on full moons and I got stuck with Lydia and Allison, reading books!”

“Cora…”

“I wanna be out there. With you. With the pack. Patrolling the streets, keeping Beacon Hills safe. But I can’t. I’m useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Derek tries. “Deaton said–”

“Screw Deaton!” Cora shouts and she throws the glass at the wall. “It’s been _years_, Derek. Twelve years and I _still_ don’t have my wolf. Deaton keeps saying it will come back but it hasn’t. I’m still cursed. We might as well face the truth: he was wrong. He saved my life but I’ll _never_ shift again!”

It’s not the anger that Derek’s struggling with. It’s the tears in her eyes. It’s the desperation in her voice. It’s the thoughts in her head.

“I can’t even feel the moon anymore,” and now she sounds so anguished. “I’m not fast, I’m not strong, I don’t heal the way you do. I can’t see or hear or smell, like I used to. I can’t do anything. And now I can’t even feel the moon.”

She turns away; probably to hide her tears.

“I was human once,” he says. “I remember what it was like.”

“This is different. You were human for, like, a month. And I’m not human. I’m a werewolf. I just don’t have my wolf anymore. That… _Druid_,” she spits the word, like it’s toxic in her mouth, “took it away from me. She didn’t turn me human, she just broke me.”

“Cora” Derek tries again but she whirls on him, her fists clenched.

“I swear,” and her anger is back, sharp and hot and determined, “wolf or no wolf, if I ever find out who the Darach is, I’m going to tear them limb from limb.”

She storms out the kitchen – doesn’t even greet Jennifer on her way past – and out the apartment and Derek lets her go. There’s nothing he can say to her that will help, nothing he can offer. Because she’s right: none of them know what it’s like to lose a part of yourself the way she’s lost her wolf.

_If we ever do find the Darach_, he thinks, glancing absently at Jennifer, _then I’ll be the one to hold her down for Cora_.

*

Aiden stops by the garage at lunch to brief Ethan on last night’s pack meeting.

“So this is sacrificial for sure?”

Aiden shrugs. “Scott thinks so. Although he says otherwise. But from what I’ve heard about the body, I’d be inclined to agree with him.”

“Why, what’d you hear?” Ethan takes a drink of the coffee that his brother has brought him. It’s been a busy day and it’s a nice pick-me-up. Caffeine doesn’t really work on werewolves, but he likes the bitter taste of straight, black coffee to perk himself up.

“The way they found it sounded pretty ritualistic. Some kind of brand on his chest, wrists and ankles bound, brain missing.”

“His brain? Are you sure?”

“That’s what Allison said. And she went to medical school.”

Ethan frowns thoughtfully. “Why would they take his brain?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. They’re still looking for rituals that might match what we have so far. Which is basically nothing. Scott’s pinning his hopes on tonight.”

Ethan swirls his coffee around in the cup. “We haven’t found anything yet. Not sure why he expects that to change but you gotta appreciate the optimism, right?”

“Maybe we’re just not looking in the right place.”

Ethan glances sharply at his brother. “What.”

“This isn’t the first time people have been sacrificed in Beacon Hills,” Aiden says pointedly.

“So, you think the Darach is back?”

“That’s assuming she even left in the first place.”

Ethan sighs the kind of resigned sigh that usually accompanies the knowledge that they’ve discussed this topic a dozen times before. “You’re not still going on about this, are you? It’s been twelve years, Aiden. You need to let it go.”

“You heard Kali and Deucalion in the hospital that night, same as I did. And those sacrifices started right after we got to town and stopped right after the rest of our pack was defeated. That’s not a coincidence. Not for us.”

“Aiden, we’ve had this conversation before,” Ethan rubs his head, as if the very topic is giving him a headache. “And every time, I tell you the exact same thing. There’s no connection between the Darach and the Alpha pack. We never found one.”

“You heard them that night,” Aiden repeats stubbornly. “Julie, Jennifer, whatever the fuck she’s calling herself: she used to be in Kali’s pack.”

“Yeah, and she went after us for revenge because she was close with Kali until Kali betrayed her and almost killed her. I’ve heard this theory before. But if she wanted revenge back then, what’s her motivation now?”

Aiden frowns. He doesn’t have an answer for that.

“Don’t you think if Jennifer was the Darach, Scott or Derek, y’know, her _boyfriend_, would have figured it out by now?”

“She’s a Druid,” Aiden points out. “She probably has ways of hiding it.”

Ethan pins Aiden with a look. “We don’t have any proof. Unless we ever do, you’ll just have accept the fact that she’s _not_ the Darach. And you better not go around telling anyone otherwise.”

“Whatever you say,” Aiden mutters but the conversation is clearly over. “I should get back to work before they fire me or something.”

Ethan snorts. “They’re not gonna fire _you_. Thanks for the coffee.”

Aiden lifts a hand in acknowledgement and makes a move to leave but Ethan’s voice catches him just as he reaches the door.

“You know, you’re not the first person to accuse Jennifer of killing people,” he says lowly, as if someone could be listening in. “But just remember: she’s still here and he isn’t.”

*

Nightfall sets in a little after 8pm.

Scott has the pack meet at Derek’s old loft. He doesn’t live there at the moment but it still gets used as a sort of base of operations during situations like this one.

Most of them are restless as they wait for the full moon to rise. Scott, Derek and Isaac in particular are pacing around the room, feeling the energy from the night thrumming through their bones; even Ethan and Aiden are on edge. Only Sammi, David and Felix appear relatively unaffected this early in the night.

Cora can’t sit still either but that’s for different reasons. Mostly frustration.

Once upon a time she would be gearing up to run through the town with them; but now she’s stuck indoors with Allison and Lydia and a bunch of old books.

Scott tries to burn off energy by going over the plan again. This isn’t the first disappearance to happen on a full moon so it isn’t the first time they’ve done this. They already have the routes plotted and assigned to a pack member and adjusted for their strengths.

Eight ‘wolves can cover a lot of ground but Beacon Hills is still quite a big town.

Then it’s just about waiting for the moon’s rise.

“Remember, guys, this could be our one chance to catch these kidnappers before any more bodies turn up,” Scott says seriously, for around the fifth time in the last ten minutes. “So keep your eyes open and howl if you see anything, and I mean _anything_, out of the ordinary.”

The pack just mumble an affirmative for the fifth time.

“Are we sure we’re gonna see them tonight?” Isaac asks. “Since they might have already killed one of their, um, targets?”

“12am on the 12th,” Scott repeats, like it’s a mantra. “That’s their MO. And tonight is the twelfth month since they started taking people. It’d be strange if they broke their pattern now. They’re too predictable.”

“And yet somehow we still haven’t caught them,” Aiden points out, before being elbowed by his brother.

“Not with that attitude,” Lydia responds snappily: maybe she’s a little tense too.

“Well, as predictable as they are,” Scott responds after placating Lydia with a gentle touch, “they’re also meticulous. They don’t leave a single thing out of place that isn’t meant to be. That’s why our best shot is to catch them in the act.”

They’ve probably had more than a few versions of this conversation, especially over the last couple of months.

Aiden looks kind of shifty, as if he has something more he wants to say but Ethan quickly pins him with some kind of glare and they delve into one of their silent conversations in the corner. Scott eyes them with some hesitation before he moves across the room to Derek.

“You alright?” he asks. His co-Alpha looks distant, like he’s lost in his thoughts.

“What?” he blinks at Scott, before shaking his head. “I’m fine. Just…”

“Have a weird feeling?” Scott guesses. “Yeah, me too. It’s like anticipation or something? Like we’re just waiting for something to happen.”

Derek nods, looking troubled. “I thought it was because of the disappearance. But I didn’t feel like this during any other full moon. This is… different.”

Scott knows the feeling all too well. “Where’s Jennifer?”

“Oh, she couldn’t come. Said she had some grading to do.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a scuffle in the corner, and Ethan hissing a panicked “_Aiden, no!_” They both turn to look at the twins and Aiden must take that as a cue to speak.

“What if it’s the Darach?”

The room is silent. Sammi, David and Felix exchange a confused look.

“What do you mean?” Scott asks carefully.

“The sacrifices. What if the Darach is killing people again?”

“We don’t even know that it is a sacrifice yet.”

“Okay, if it is one, then what if it’s the Darach?”

Scott contemplates his answer for a moment. “We haven’t seen or heard from the Darach since they were sacrificing people twelve years ago. What makes you think they’d be back?”

“Well, you just said so,” Aiden ploughs on. “The only other time we’ve faced a series of kidnappings followed by deaths is when the Darach was sacrificing people twelve years ago. Maybe they’ve started again.”

“Where’s this coming from?” Scott asks, instead of addressing his theory.

Aiden glances at Ethan. “Just trying to think of suspects. I mean, we never caught her the first time around either.”

“Her?” Derek echoes the word dangerously.

“The Darach, I mean,” Aiden shuffles back a step. “With the Nemeton, Beacon Hills is a powerful territory, right? And she’s–they’re a Druid so they probably know how to hide in plain sight, like last time. Maybe that’s why they came back.”

He sounds like he might have switched tactics in the middle there and it’s not surprising, considering the anger Derek is projecting through the room.

Scott puts an arm across his chest to stop him from pouncing on Aiden. He knows exactly what his beta is trying to imply; Ethan had too, if his attempts to stop his twin are any indication. But they’re also all being affected by the full moon – the light of which is beginning to hit the windows – and he’s not going to let that get in the way of tonight’s plan.

“It’s a good idea,” he says, again carefully. “Except for the part that _we don’t know who the Darach is_,” he stresses his words. “So even if we can have _them_ down as a suspect, it still leaves us no closer to actually finding them and stopping them. So we stick to the plan.”

Aiden just nods, letting Ethan drag him back into the corner.

The moon itches under Scott’s skin. He knows his eyes are beginning to glow from the pull of it. The other wolves know too. It’s time.

Felix is exchanging a few words with Cora. Ethan is reassuring Danny, who'll be heading to work soon, before they leave. Allison is hugging Isaac like he’s about to go to war or something – they’ve been extra clingy with each other lately; Scott hopes everything’s okay.

Lydia appears at his elbow and he draws her into a kiss.

“Stay safe out there,” she tells him.

“Always,” he cups her jaw for one last kiss, before turning to the pack. “It’s time, guys.”

The wolves make for the door. Derek waits for Scott, who surveys the remaining pack members. There’s always that underlying worry of something happening when he isn’t around to help them or protect them. Somehow, the full moon is charging that feeling and he’s struck with an overwhelming sense of dread. But it fades quickly, and he’s just left with that strange feeling of anticipation. Like something – he can’t tell if it’s good or bad – is going to happen.

Derek’s touch on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. Lydia smiles a comforting smile at him and then he’s following his betas out into the town, Derek on his heels.

The ‘wolves follow the plan, splitting up to canvas the town with only the moonlight to guide them. Scott repeats his orders of howling if they sense anything out of the ordinary one last time before he disappears into the night.

Derek’s not sure how much time has passed when he finishes his second run.

He hasn’t sensed anything amiss, and he’s the one who should, more than anyone else. As the Hale Alpha, he is more in tune with the land than even Scott, but everything is still and quiet. Everything is normal. And from the lack of howls, no one else has found anything either.

The moon is high in the sky above him, shining a brilliant white. The trees of the Preserve sway gently in a non-existent breeze. He’s not sure why he ended up here: his route through Beacon Hills shouldn’t have brought him this close to the woodland but here he is, wandering through the trees.

He thinks he should return to the town.

Something fizzes under his skin. He’s not sure what: it can be harder to identify more complex emotions when he’s in his full-shift form; especially when he’s in his full-shift form under a full moon. But whatever it is gives him pause.

A howl builds in his throat, itching to get out. He tries to swallow it down. He knows to howl if there’s something wrong, but whatever this is doesn’t feel like that. It doesn’t feel normal, as in it’s not something he’s really felt before, but it also doesn’t feel bad. It’s not a warning he wants to howl, it’s something else.

Before he knows it, he’s thrown his head back and howled at the moon.

His voice echoes around him, loud and insistent and everywhere; and it takes him a second to realize his pack has howled back. But again, they’re not answering his call, rather, they’re _echoing_ it. And for a single, beautiful moment everything feels right with the world.

In the loft, a banshee, a hunter, and an ex-werewolf are distracted from their reading by the sound of the pack howling all around them.

“Maybe they found something,” Allison suggests worriedly, but Cora’s shaking her head.

“It doesn’t sound like that kind of howl.”

“What do you mean?”

As Cora starts trying to explain the meaning of the howl, Lydia glances at the clock. The bright white of the moon illuminates it better than any lamp they have on.

It’s just struck midnight.

*

The road in and out of Beacon Hills is quiet for the time of night. Only one vehicle can be seen from the edge of town: a dusty, second-hand van cruising at a low-speed with soft music playing through the open window.

The headlights illuminate a sign along the right side of the road: _Welcome to Beacon Hills_.

As the van travels past the sign, the radio is drowned out by the howl of a wolf, long and drawn into the night air. It’s echoed a second later by seven more voices, each one repeating the message that the first one is conveying: welcome to Beacon Hills.

A glance at the van’s clock shows that it’s just turned midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted at 12am on the 12th.
> 
> This might _technically_ be the longest chapter I've ever written for a fic, but it might end up being one of the shortest in this entire fic, given what I'm thinking about for the rest of it.
> 
> I don't remember what inspired this fic in particular, but it is an old idea that takes place after Season 3A. 3B doesn't happen, 4 does with some liberties, 5 does with more liberties, and 6 doesn't; none of them are canon-compliant for reasons. More info on that will come as the fic develops.


	2. form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> good different or bad different:
> 
> An old familiar face returns to Beacon Hills, shocking Scott. Another body is found in the woods and a new enemy is revealed. Cracks show in Derek’s relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: I have not watched an episode of Teen Wolf in a few years so I am basing my characterization on a mixture of memory, previous writings, and all the fanfiction I have been reading recently. as such, some of the characters may sound a bit weird; I am claiming artistic licence -- it's been twelve years in the fic, they've grown up, they probably sound a bit different anyway?
> 
> I was also recently told that my writing comes across as simplistic, which I think is to do with my use of the present tense (which I am still getting familiar with) so I hope you still find this fic fun to read, even if I am slightly stilted(?) in my structure.
> 
> tags will be updated as I go.

**April 12th.**

Scott sleeps late on Friday.

After the disappointing, but not quite uneventful, full moon, he’d gotten home and crashed out on the sofa. Full moons are good for power boosts but when you spend that power boost running through the town four times over, it drains fast.

And still, they hadn’t found anything. No sign of any kidnapper or any magic use or anything remotely out of the ordinary.

Except that series of howls in the middle of the night. Scott isn’t sure who started it, him or Derek; but the entire pack had joined in, echoing this howl around the entire town. And it hadn’t been a warning or a calling, it had been something else; and Scott’s not sure what.

Lydia’s already at work when he drags himself from sleep.

She normally has a few appointments a day and since she isn’t a werewolf who spent the full moon canvassing the town, she probably has enough energy to get her through the day.

Scott usually works on a Friday too; unless it’s a full moon, when he normally switches shifts with Deaton – full moons are a lot like being drunk, he thinks. And the next day is a lot like being hungover.

He yawns and stretches, shaking out some of the aches and pains in his muscles. His phone is tossed haphazardly on the floor next to him; it must have fallen from the arm of the sofa, where he _thinks_ he left it last night, so he didn’t end up sleeping on it instead.

The time says it’s a little after noon. There’s no important messages, waiting to be read, which he seeks some relief from.

Last night really had been disappointing.

He does, however, shoot a quick text off to Derek about the howling situation.

**[Scott, @ 12:02pm]** _what was with the howling last night?_

When he finally wanders into the kitchen, there’s a post-it note stuck to the fridge: Lydia letting him know that she’d made him lunch before leaving for work. And of course, she made him his favourite sandwich. He makes a mental note to thank her later.

He wanders around the apartment while he eats.

He feels restless, despite being tired. There’s a buzz of unsettled energy under his skin that stops him from staying still for too long. It reminds him of last night, but different. More like what he’d felt earlier in the week. Where everything feels shifted, slightly tilted, and he can’t figure out why.

His phone pings with a text from Derek.

** [Derek, @ 12:24pm]** _Not sure. I was in the Preserve when it happened._

** [Scott, @ 12:25pm]** _why were you there? that wasn’t your route._

** [Derek, @ 12:27pm]** _I know, and I don’t know._  
** [Derek, @ 12:28pm]** _I felt something._

** [Scott, @ 12: 30pm] ** _what?_

** [Derek, @ 12:34pm] ** _I don’t know but it’s why I howled. Something felt different._

** [Scott, @ 12:35pm] ** _good different or bad different?_

When Derek doesn’t reply after a few minutes of waiting, Scott tosses his phone to the side and grabs his jacket instead. He feels oddly claustrophobic in his apartment, he needs to get out and go for a walk, and try to shake this tension away. Maybe check in on his pack members if he can.

He can feel the pack bonds but he’d feel more settled when he’s seen them all in person.

He leaves his phone in the kitchen as he heads for the door. Just a quick walk around town, he’ll be back in an hour or so.

A few minutes after he’s gone, his phone chimes again.

**[Derek, @ 12:45pm]** _Good different._

*

Isaac brings the Sheriff some lunch while he’s working on paperwork.

“I thought you weren’t working today?” Noah barely glances up from the files.

“I’m not. But I knew you were.” He holds up the food containers and the smell of food is too tempting, even for Noah.

Isaac squints as he hands the food over. “Is everything alright?”

Noah sighs and rubs his forehead. “There was a call a little while ago. Someone found a body in the woods today.”

“Like the one we found on Tuesday?” Isaac asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“Not exactly,” Noah hesitates. “He was found in the exact same way as Jeffery Williams. The brand on his chest in the exact same position. The bindings around his wrists, ankles and neck also identical. ME estimates time of death at midnight, same as last time, but we’re still waiting on confirmation. Found at the exact same time as well, 12pm.”

“Is it…” Isaac recalls his notes, “Terry Williams, the second disappearance?”

“We’re not sure. We’re having a hard time identifying the body.”

“How come?” Isaac asks; last time they’d identified Jeffery Williams on scene. And they had recent photos of all the victims – as recent as they could get, at least – and Isaac couldn’t imagine their appearances would have changed _that_ much.

Noah hesitates again. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” he pushes the open case file across his desk. Isaac peers at it, flicks through the notes and then stills, staring at the folder.

“What the fuck?” his eyes go wide; Noah smiles wryly. “Scott is not gonna believe this.”

“How’s he doing, by the way?” he asks. “I heard you didn’t find anything last night.”

Isaac shrugs. “He was pretty wiped out when I saw him last. I think he pushed himself harder than anyone; this was our last chance at catching the kidnappers. And then there was the whole howling thing. Speaking of that, though, any word yet?”

“No reports have been filed but it’s still early,” Noah responds. “What howling thing?”

Isaac frowns again, finally distracted from the case file. “I don’t know. We were out canvassing the town when Derek or Scott started howling? Next thing I know, we all were.”

“Like a warning howl?”

“No, it wasn’t… I don’t really know what it was. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It didn’t feel like we were trying to warn each other, more like… I don’t know, like we were rejoicing, I guess. It’s weird.”

“Guess that explains what I heard around midnight,” Noah muses thoughtfully, but Isaac catches onto his words.

“Midnight? That’s… interesting.”

They fall into a brief silence, both contemplating each other’s information. It’s broken when Isaac glances at his watch and realizes the time.

“I need to go, Sheriff, I have to meet Allison for,” he hesitates, “a _thing_. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late. Enjoy your lunch.”

Noah nods and waves his deputy away, before burying himself back into his paperwork. He’s barely been at it a few minutes when there’s a knock on his door.

“Did you forget something?”

“Not your birthday, if that’s what you’re implying,” a different, but not entirely unfamiliar, voice responds. “See, I even got you a present. Even if I am a few months late.”

Noah is up and rounding his desk before he even knows it, grabbing the man in the doorway to pull him into a tight hug.

“Whoa, hey, I missed you too,” the man laughs, hugging Noah back even tighter.

They hold onto each other for a few minutes before Noah finally pulls back to look properly into the face of his grown son. “Stiles,” is about all the words he can manage for a greeting.

Stiles grins at him, faintly embarrassed. “Hey, Dad.”

*

“You got all my postcards, right?”

Stiles all but sprawls out on his chair across from his Dad. He fidgets a little, nervous after such a long time without a face-to-face conversation.

“Yes, Stiles,” Noah responds dryly. “I got all your postcards. All 400 of them.”

His eyes go wide. “Is that how many I sent?”

“No idea, I lost count around 60.” They’re all stacked neatly in a cardboard box that sits in what used to be Stiles’ bedroom.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Stiles rubs at his eyes sheepishly. “I got into this habit of sending you one every time I crossed into a new country. And then I was sending you one every, what, two weeks, right? Yeah, I can see how that might have added up.”

“At least for the first few years,” Noah agrees. “Can’t complain though,” he adds warmly. “You were out there, seeing the world, discovering yourself, and I got to be a part of it. Not quite the way I would have thought, but I’m glad all the same.”

Stiles grins at him. “Yeah, well, couldn’t let you go thinking you’d finally gotten rid of me,” he teases lightly, eliciting a chuckle out of Noah.

“Never,” he agrees with a grin.

His son looks tired, he thinks. His eyes are shadowed, his hair looks mussed, and he keeps rubbing at his face, which Noah recognises as a tell from when he was young and used to fight his bedtimes.

“What time did you get back?” he asks. Stiles blinks at him.

“Oh, I don’t know, early this morning? It was still dark when I entered the town. Drove around for a while then booked a room at the Moonlight Motel. Crashed out really hard. Only woke up about half an hour ago, if I’m honest.”

“So you haven’t eaten?”

“Not since yesterday, no,” Stiles admits with a laugh.

“Then how about I take you out for lunch? At that diner you used to frequent before you left. They still do those curly fries you love.”

“Oh, Dad, you don’t have to,” Stiles starts but Noah stops him with a wave of his hand.

“I can and I will. Consider it a birthday present, since I didn’t have time to get you one.”

“What about your paperwork?” Stiles glances at his desk. “Seems like you have a lot of cases that probably deserve your attention.”

“Someone else can do it. I’m taking my son out to celebrate his 30th.”

“Well, then I guess we can exchange presents. I do actually have one for you,” Stiles ducks to rummage in the duffle bag at his feet, pulling out a thin, square parcel wrapped haphazardly in colourful paper. “You could open it at the diner. I know it’s a couple months late but it’s a good present. At least, I hope.”

“Any present from you, Stiles, is a good present,” Noah assures.

“Yeah, well, you’re my Dad, you’re supposed to say that,” Stiles grumbles but he’s smiling.

As Noah’s reaching for his jacket, there’s a knock at his office door.

“Excuse me, sir?” a deputy Stiles doesn’t recognize steps into the room. “Sorry to interrupt but the officers have finished their canvas of the town and so far we haven’t found anything unusual. No sign of anyone missing yet.”

That catches Stiles’ attention, swivelling between his Dad and the deputy; his eyes catch on the files on his Dad’s desk. Missing people?

“Thanks, Summers,” Noah responds. “Keep me posted. And put this in the break room, would you?” he holds out the food that Isaac had brought him.

The deputy nods the affirmative, and takes the food back out the door. Stiles spins to face his Dad, a familiar curiosity building in his bones.

“Missing people, huh?”

“How about I tell you over lunch?” Noah ushers his son out the office.

*

“So tell me about your travels,” Noah says, once they’ve ordered their food.

“What, I didn’t send you enough postcards over the years?”

“Hearing it from you is different to reading about it on a piece of card. I’ve had twelve years without you, Stiles, I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to have a real conversation with you and hear your voice.”

Stiles grins widely. “Well, where do you want me to start?”

“How about where you went?”

“I sent you a postcard from every country I visited,” he points out. “But since you insist on hearing me talk: well, you know how I went to LA to finish out the school year. And then I went to Poland after that. Met Jonusz, a witch and my first teacher.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He was awesome, Dad, you would have liked him. He was nice and thoughtful and super patient and super wise too. Gave me lots of good advice that I still carry with me today. He was older than me by a few years, part of, um, Mom’s generation of witches.” Stiles pauses, gauging the reaction on Noah’s face at the mention of Claudia.

Once, it would have turned the whole conversation sour: the mention of the missing parent lingering as a shadow of grief over the two of them. But it’s been a few more years since they lost her, and although Noah’s face crinkles slightly in a sadness that will never really disappear, he urges Stiles to continue.

“Well, Jonusz taught me all about the world we live in. Both the supernatural one and the adult one. He helped me learn focus and control and how to trust my gut and use my head. I was with him for around five months? He taught me the basics and then when I moved on, he gifted me these books so I could keep learning. I think I still have one of them, actually, in one of my cases,” he trails off thoughtfully.

“I remember you mentioning,” the Sheriff interjects slowly, “a daughter?”

“Anita? Yeah, she was around my age,” Stiles blushes faintly.

“Oh, was she?” Noah leans forward slightly, his eyes glinting. “Was she nice?”

“Um, yeah, she was nice. Took me out to explore the town, check out all the local hotspots and historical sights.” Stiles fights a smile, his flush darkening just a touch. “She was pretty.”

“I thought so,” Noah keeps his tone neutral. “The way you talked about her in your postcards. You seemed to like her.”

“Yep, I did,” Stiles nods. “A lot. She was nice. We, um, we had a thing.”

“I know. Like I said, the way you talked about her in your postcards.”

“Ah,” Stiles chuckles. “I never told you much about the personal stuff, right? Those cards never have much room. But it didn’t last long. None of them did. I didn’t stick around long enough for anything to get serious.”

_Except once, maybe,_ he thinks.

“Well, I’m happy for you, son,” Noah responds. “You spent a long time, pining after Lydia, and I know you’ve spent twelve years away but I did wonder if you’d gotten… _too_ attached.”

“Ah, well, don’t worry, Daddy-O, I have completely gotten over Lydia and, um, anyone else I pined after back in high school.” Thankful for the things he’d learned while he was away, the little white lie goes undetected: by his Dad or anyone else.

Two plates of food land in front of them, and Stiles diverts his attention to thank their waitress.

“Anyway, we can catch up more about that later,” he says. “I wanna see you open your present. I made it myself,” he passes the parcel across the table. His Dad unwraps it easily, revealing a colourfully threaded dreamcatcher. “That’s a real one, by the way. Put it over your bed or under your pillow and you will have peaceful sleeps filled with dreams you won’t want to wake from.” He frowns suddenly. “No, wait, those are the bad kind of dreams. You will have dreams that’ll make you wanna sleep in an extra hour. Yeah, that’s a good kind of dream.”

Noah listens to him in amusement. “Well, thank you, Stiles. I’ll put it in my room later tonight when I get home from work.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles looks up with a mouthful of food, “what’s this about people going missing in Beacon Hills?”

Noah hesitates, biting into his salad to buy time. For some reason, he finds he doesn’t want to tell Stiles about the kidnappings. He doesn’t want to tell him about the victims or the bodies or anything, even though he knows Stiles could help.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Stiles has him pinned with a knowing look.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles waves him off, swallowing down some curly fries. “I get it. It’s a pack thing, right? Because you’re a part of it but I’m not and you don’t want to share critical information outside of the pack without your Alpha’s approval.”

“Stiles, no, I’m not in the pack. I just help them out. I’ve never been accepted by Scott as one of his pack mates. None of that scenting stuff or submission or whatever else the wolves do to acknowledge someone as pack.”

Stiles laughs. “Nah, Dad, it’s way simpler than that. There’s no formal ceremony or initiation into the fold. It’s a matter of a bond between an Alpha and a beta. You’ve always treated Scott as a second son, and Scott always saw you as a father figure. You might not be a part of any of the pack-related activities but the bond is there. And you don’t want to betray that to someone that the bond recognizes as an outsider.”

“You and Scott were like brothers before,” Noah points out. “Surely that would apply to you too, making you pack?”

“Maybe,” Stiles hums around a mouthful of burger, ignoring the disapproval radiating from his father at eating with his mouth full. “Except twelve years ago, I rejected that bond. And after twelve years, Scott’s probably rejected it too.”

“You rejected your bond with him?” Noah echoes.

Stiles hesitates. “It’s partly why I left in the first place. Because I wasn’t… Because I didn’t belong.”

“Stiles…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he adds quickly. “I mean, Scott never did anything. I just… Sometimes I looked around and felt like an outsider. I would have followed Scott anywhere, you know I would have, but I struggled. A lot. I… left because I needed to breathe.”

Noah presses his lips together, regarding his son. Stiles had told him, all those years ago when he’d left for LA, that he’d wanted to try leading a normal life, at least until school was over with. He’d never said anything other than that, and Noah had been so glad to be able to get his son away from the danger of running with wolves that he’d never really asked anything more either.

It had been a surprise when Stiles had decided to go to Poland and then wherever else he’d travelled to after that; maybe this was why he’d made those decisions.

“Anyway,” Stiles continues just as quickly, “it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to tell me about these, uh, missing people. I’m sure there’s someone else I can talk to. And other ways to get information if I need to.”

Noah frowns, although he does relax at the out Stiles gives him. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to tell you. I can talk to Scott about it?”

“I’d rather you didn’t? I’m… not ready to go and spread the news that I’m back just yet. Let me just enjoy a few more lunches with my Dad first.”

Noah smiles faintly. “Well, I won’t complain about that. Why don’t you tell me more about this Anita girl?”

Stiles grins blindingly back at him and launches into a lengthy, detailed story about how they met and the places they used to hang out and what eventually became their first date. Noah takes the time to sit back and properly look at his son for the first time since he’s arrived.

He looks older. Taller and broader and finally grown into his long limbs. His hair is cropped short but not quite the old buzz cut he used to sport. He sprawls out across the booth and there are muscles in his neck, his shoulders, that never used to be there. The black ink of tattoos peeks out from under the collar and cuffs of his red hoodie.

On the surface he doesn’t look that different. But Noah can see it: in his posture, in his eyes. The way he sits, the way he moves: it’s coordinated and sharp and contained. He doesn’t fidget or shift or play with his sleeves. There’s a focus in his eyes and his gaze never drifts from his food or his Dad. He never loses his thought process or get jumbled up with his words. There’s a concentration, a motivation about him now: like he knows what he wants and how to get it and why.

But most of all, he looks settled and happy, like he’s finally comfortable in his own skin. There’s no fear or anxiety or uncertainty about him at all anymore.

He almost looks at peace.

*

Isaac knocks on Scott’s door later in the evening, Allison next to him. She’s been somewhat unwillingly dragged along since Isaac prefers to be keep an eye on her; just in case.

Lydia answers the door, greeting them with a faint smile. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I have news,” Isaac says.

“Good or bad?”

“Um,” Isaac glances at Allison, “I’m not sure?”

Lydia waves them in, leading them through to the lounge where she and Scott have apparently just finished their dinner.

“Hey, guys,” Scott greets them brightly but Isaac can see the tension in his shoulders.

“Do you want the bad news or the other news?” he asks wryly.

Lydia takes a seat next to Scott, squeezing his hand as his face turns grim.

“What’s the bad news?”

“The police found another body.”

The statement hangs in the air, accompanied by Scott’s heavy sigh. “What do we know?”

“The Sheriff–_Noah_ says it’s almost identical to the way we found Mr Williams. Bound, branded, body dumped in the woods. Time of death is 12am, body was found at 12pm. Exactly the same as last time.”

“Do we know who it is?”

Isaac hesitates. “We think it might be Terry Morgan, the second disappearance, but we’re having a hard time identifying the body. We need the wife to give us something to officially confirm it’s him.”

Scott turns sharp eyes on his beta. “Why?”

There’s a beat. Isaac and Allison exchange a glance, silently debating who tells Scott about the way the body was found.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Scott presses, a warning in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Allison loses the debate and turns to her Alpha, her face twisting in a mix of hesitation and disbelief. “He doesn’t have a face.”

“…What?”

“They, um, they took his face?”

“What d’you mean?” Lydia frowns in confusion. “How do you take a person’s face?”

“I don’t…” Allison shrugs helplessly. “It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, and I became a hunter at seventeen. I got Melissa to let me take a look and it’s… It’s _weird_. We don’t even know how they did it, there’s no apparent surgical incision or anything. They just… peeled his face off. And it’s just his face. Like, they cut around his hairline, and under his jaw. He still has his hair and anything neck or below is still intact. And his ears.”

“His face?” Scott echoes, still stuck on that.

“Yeah,” Allison nods. “All of it. The tissues, the muscle, the nerve endings, the blood, it’s all gone. It’s just the front of his skull. And his eyeballs? It’s… It’s _weird_. I don’t even really know how to describe it to you.”

She looks nauseated at the thought of it, Isaac’s hand a comforting weight on her shoulder.

“I saw the photos,” he says. “It’s gross, honestly. And really fucking weird.”

“What about his brain?” Lydia asks.

“Intact. They didn’t take it this time. Just his face.” Allison shudders faintly.

Scott sighs a resigned sigh: although he’s not sure if he’s resigning himself to the increasing possibility of sacrifices or just the weirdness of these deaths. “What’s the other news?”

“Uh, well, you know how you were saying the other day that it’d be really weird for the kidnappers to change their plans this far in?” Isaac asks slowly. “Well, I spoke to the Sheriff–I mean, Noah and he says no one’s been reported missing yet? And the neighbourhood canvas came up empty. Which sounds like good news but also not?”

Scott frowns. “That doesn’t make sense. They haven’t missed a month since they started last April. And all of a sudden now, they decide that eleven people is enough? When they’ve been so blatant about this theme of 12?” He shakes a sharp headache from behind his eyes. “This is… What do we keep _missing_!?”

Lydia soothes his anger with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “It’s still early. Let’s give it a couple more days.”

“A couple more days for what?” Scott snaps but he sounds tired now. “Either they broke the pattern for a reason we might never know or they still took someone and we couldn’t stop it and now those people might turn up dead.”

“Well, this seems like they’re making their move, right?” Allison offers gently. “That means they’re gonna be more active in the next few weeks than they’ve been in the entire last year. They might still slip up or they might not be able to avoid detection or they might get clumsy or careless. So we’ve still got a chance to catch them before things go too far, right?”

Scott sighs but it sounds less depressed, squeezing Lydia’s hand back. She shoots Allison a grateful look for her words.

“Do you guys wanna stay for a coffee?” she offers.

“There’s something else,” Isaac interjects. “That you should know.”

All three turn to look at him; even Allison looks somewhat surprised, implying that Isaac hadn’t even told her yet.

“Stiles is back.”

Scott inhales sharply.

“Stiles, as in…?” Lydia gestures meaningfully.

“Are you sure?” Scott ask thickly.

“Looked like him, smelled like him, sounded like him. Well, with twelve years on top, but yeah, I’m sure. He was with the Sheriff earlier.”

Digesting the news, Scott falls back in his seat. Lydia pats his thigh.

“I’ll get us all some coffee,” she says gently.

“Tea for me, please,” Allison quickly corrects. “I have an early night.”

While Lydia busies herself in the kitchen, Isaac settles down next to Scott, offering him some pack bond comfort. “You okay?”

“Honestly?” Scott stares at the ceiling, “It’s been a weird day.”

“You know we’re here for you?” Allison says.

“Yeah, I know,” he smiles gratefully at her, patting Isaac on the shoulder.

Later, when they’ve both left for home, he takes the time to sort through his thoughts. Not that it’s Isaac’s fault but he’d brought some news that Scott would rather have gone without. Nobody’s missing yet, which sounds like good news, but the break in the pattern is… concerning. These kidnappers have established a blatant pattern and the fact that even the threat of Scott and his pack hadn’t caused them to deviate says a lot about how important this pattern is: and how _unsettling_ it is that they did break it.

And this new body turning up is a whole other problem. It’s only been three days since the first one had been discovered. The timeline is short and, despite Allison’s earlier assurances, is just as hard to navigate as the yearlong spate of kidnappings. Even if they did happen to find some piece of evidence that could help them find and stop the killers, they’ll barely have any time to actually use it. Eleven bodies turning up at three day intervals? That’s less than a month to sacrifice each disappearance.

As for the news about Stiles, Scott isn’t even sure what to do with that. It jumbles his head more than anything else: twelve years of radio silence and he’d just about given up on having contact with his old friend ever again. And now, right in the middle of whatever is going on in the town, he has to prepare for the possibility of running into him in the street. How would he react? How would Stiles react? What would they even say to each other?

“Hey,” Lydia startles him from his thoughts. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

Accepting the tea with a grateful smile, he groans faintly. “What is even going on around here anymore? Kidnappings, murder and now Stiles?”

“How are you feeling about that, by the way?” she sits next to him, a steaming mug of cocoa cupped between her hands.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s confusing. I don’t know if I’m happy or angry or scared or if I just don’t care at all. I can’t figure out how it feels. I can’t figure out how it _should_ feel.”

“You don’t have to decide that right now,” she points out. “You can take the time to think about it. There’s no right or wrong reaction to this.”

“I just… I used to think about what it’d be like if he came back. During the first couple years. I thought, maybe it’d be awkward, but we were brothers, it’d be okay in no time. Back to the way it used to be, when he’d drag me out to go look for bodies in the woods or when I’d kick his ass at lacrosse, even though he’d make me swear to not use my powers.”

“I’d think that too,” Lydia agrees when he pauses to remember.

“Yeah, well, I stopped after that when it started making me angry. I started wishing he’d stay away for good, since he clearly wanted nothing to do with me. I’d never go that long without talking to him. _Never_. He was my best friend, and I owed him so much and I thought we’d still be hanging out in our nineties, in some nursing home somewhere. But he just left and he never said a word and I hated that.” He curls his hand into a fist, as if remembering what that anger had felt like. “I thought I’d gotten better about it. Like I’d moved on. It’s been twelve years, I should be okay with it, shouldn’t I? So what if he’s back, that shouldn’t mean anything anymore, right?”

“Scott,” Lydia turns to him with her patented serious face. “I can’t tell you what it should or shouldn’t feel like. Because there’s no instruction booklet for emotions, and I’ve looked, trust me.” He cracks a smile at that. “But I do know that he was your best friend for a really long time and then he disappeared from your life for an equally long time and it’s alright to not be alright about that. And it’s alright to be affected by it, even after twelve years. It’s a sore point in your history, I don’t think you could ever really be prepared to deal with it or even face it when he turns back up in town. You’re not alone, though, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he reaches to squeeze her hand. “I know I’m not. I’m just… I’m the Alpha, I don’t always know how to share this stuff with my betas.”

“Forget the werewolf stuff for a minute. This isn’t an Alpha thing, Scott, this is a human thing, and we’re all a little human inside. So share it with that side of us.”

“You’re a lot wiser than you seem,” he smiles gently at her. “Thank you for this. And for the tea: I do feel better now.”

“Well, what are fiancées for?” she leans in to kiss him, tasting the tea on his lips. “I’m going to head to bed. You should join me.”

She slides from the sofa and slips away to the bedroom. Scott quickly drains his tea before following because he’s too smart to pass up an invitation like that.

*

“You really didn’t have to do this,” Stiles says as he lugs his two suitcases from his truck to his Dad’s house.

“It’s not a bother, Stiles,” Noah responds. “You’re my son and I have a spare room. I’d rather you stayed here, instead of that motel. No security there.”

“I can take care of myself,” he points out, but he’s not gonna insist on the motel over the comforts of what used to be his home.

“I know you can, but you still deserve a safe place to sleep. Besides now it’s easier for me to give you your birthday present.”

“I don’t think it’s even my birthday anymore,” Stiles laughs.

“It’s still five minutes to midnight,” Noah responds and when Stiles checks his phone, he sees that it is, indeed, still the 12th.

“Guess I should open it fast then,” he accepts the simply wrapped gift with eagerness. It’s easy to tear the paper off, revealing a plain-covered scrapbook. Stiles remembers mentioning his hobby of documenting his travels; this will come in handy for any new photos he takes. “Thanks, Dad, this is great.”

“Happy Birthday, son.”

*

**April 13th.**

Scott doesn’t normally visit the Sheriff at work but it’s his Saturday off, and he wants to know more about the Stiles situation. It’s the only thing he seems to be able to do anything about right now: since there’s no sign of the kidnappers or the murderers.

The deputies know him well enough to let him through without too many questions: while he doesn’t actively work with the Sheriff, he does have a close relationship with the man and he comes by regularly enough to be known around the bullpen.

“Scott,” Noah greets easily, sorting through yet more paperwork; a Sheriff’s job is never done. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, mostly,” Scott responds, shuffling on the spot slightly. “I just wanted to stop by while Lydia is out shopping.”

“Is this about the faceless victim?”

“Oh, well, since I’m here…”

Noah sifts through the files on his desk. “We had the wife of Terry Morgan come in to help with the identification. In cases like these, where the face is… damaged, we ask for a unique identifying mark, like a scar or a birthmark.”

Scott nods: he’s heard this before. “Does Mr Morgan have something like that?”

Noah slides a photo across the desk. “He broke his arm, climbing trees when he was younger. Has a scar near his elbow from the surgery. It’s a match to the scar we found on the body. It’s definitely him.”

The younger man sighs. He looks vaguely tired at the revelation, but there’s also a reluctant acceptance in his expression. “You know, after all these years, I probably shouldn’t have expected anything less. I guess I was just hoping it might have been some kind of fluke or accident, not the sacrificial death it looked like.”

“There’s nothing wrong with believing, Scott,” Noah responds gently. “I think we all hoped, deep down, that it wasn’t going to turn out like this. I’m sorry it did.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” Scott smiles weakly at him. “Guess all we can do now is catch them before they kill anyone else.”

“Well, that is my day job too,” Noah points out. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”

Scott suddenly looks shifty under Noah’s gaze. “Well, actually, when were you going to tell me that Stiles was back?”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“Isaac. He saw Stiles at the station yesterday. So, _were_ you going to tell me?”

“Stiles asked me not to. He only got back yesterday, you know, and he said he wasn’t ready for everyone to know yet. Probably needs time to get settled.”

“Did you tell him about… what’s going on?” Scott gestures to Noah’s desk.

“No. He asked but I didn’t. I wanted to, but he said that because I was a part of your pack, I didn’t want to reveal information without, well, your permission. Which I still don’t fully understand but Stiles said it was because we had a bond that your, um, wolf recognized.”

Scott frowns faintly, nodding. He understands the basics behind what makes a pack member a pack member. As long as there’s a mutual bond between the Alpha and his beta, accepted on both sides, the wolves recognizes them as pack. The scent marking, the physical contact, and, with his wolf betas in particular, the submission are all just conscious acknowledgements of the bond; and the type and strength of bond tends to affect how active a pack member might be within the pack.

He’d just never seen the bond work in this way before. Stiles becoming essentially an outsider, to the point that his pack need his permission to discuss supernatural-related activity within the territory. It’s understandable, but still new.

“Well, if he still wants to know, you can tell him,” he offers.

Noah shakes his head. “He told me not to worry about it. Apparently he has other ways of finding out but he didn’t say what. He’s… different now, Scott.”

“Good different or bad different?” Scott asks warily.

“Definitely good different,” Noah smiles proudly, thinking of Stiles and the changes he’s seen in his son so far.

“Thanks for your help, Mr Stilinski,” Scott says after a beat, somewhat uncomfortable, cringing at Noah’s reprimanding look. “Sorry, thanks for your help, _Noah_. But I should head out now, Lydia will be waiting for me.”

“One more thing before you leave,” Noah quickly looks through his files. “I don’t know if you would count this as good news or not, but we still don’t have any reports of missing people. I don’t think anyone’s been taken, Scott. Not this time.”

Scott frowns deeper. “That _sounds_ like good news. Thanks again, Sheriff, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Scott,” Noah sighs fondly as he leaves: twelve years and the pack still haven’t gotten used to the first-name basis. Even Isaac still resorts to calling him Sheriff, and they’ve been working together for a good few years now. It’s almost endearing.

At least it’s better than the ‘_sir_’ Hale keeps giving him, he thinks, burying himself back into the paperwork.

*

When Deaton walks out into his waiting room to find one Stiles Stilinski waiting for him, he’s not… surprised per se, but rather just not expecting his presence.

“Dr Deaton,” Stiles greets, oddly formal for what Deaton remembers of him.

“Mr Stilinski,” he matches his tone. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m looking for information.”

“Have you tried the library?”

“Not that kind of information,” Stiles looks faintly exasperated before schooling his expression back to neutral. “I’m interested in these disappearances around town and libraries don’t really contain active police case files.”

“Then perhaps you should ask your father.”

“I tried that. He’s too close to Scott, the bond they have gets in the way.”

“And what makes you think I can help you?” Deaton asks, and it’s a fair question, given that Scott has a close bond with him too: he has been mentoring Scott for a long time now.

“You have more experience with werewolves than he does. Any bond with Scott that ties you to the pack is probably strong; but your awareness of it is probably stronger. Besides, it was either you or Peter and I’m not really sure what he’s up to these days, so.”

Deaton doesn’t answer that, except to wave Stiles through to the examination room. “These disappearances might not even be supernatural related.”

“Oh, they are, I’m sure of that,” and something about Stiles’ confidence with that statement has Deaton raising an eyebrow.

“Are you?”

“Yep. People going missing is never a good thing and apparently it’s so bad around here that my Dad has his officers canvassing the town.”

“That doesn’t make it supernatural.”

“No, but it sure as hell makes it not normal and I’m familiar with not normal.”

“How familiar?” Deaton asks curiously. There’s something different about Stiles, standing in front of him. Something more than just the changes that come with growing up.

“Familiar enough that I can’t get away from not-normal, no matter how hard I try. Not that I’d want to, of course, but it always pays to know when you don’t have an exit.”

Deaton studies him for a long moment and Stiles stares back, undeterred. There’s something in his eyes, a power that Deaton has never seen in him before. He hadn’t noticed it at first but now that he’s taking a closer look, there’s more to Stiles than one glance would tell you.

The way he’s standing looks innocuous enough but Deaton can see the alertness in his stance, the readiness to move at a moment’s notice. Under his neutral and relaxed expression, there’s a calculating observation in his gaze: the kind of observation where he’s not going to miss a single word or look, where he’s already got three different attack plans in case he needs them, where he knows exactly where the door is and how to get out.

There’s something about his red hooded sweatshirt too: the way it sits on his body, the way it clings to his movements, the way it almost seems to _shimmer_ in the light. It somehow makes him look inconspicuous, even when it’s just the two of them in the room, despite the bright red colour of it.

Even his faded baggy jeans and worn combat boots are a far cry from the skinny jeans and canvas sneakers he used to wear.

“What would you like to know?” Deaton asks smoothly.

“Whatever you can tell me. How many people have gone missing; how, when, where; any ideas about why; anything important,” Stiles ticks off his fingers, unintentionally displaying a tattoo on the back of his hand that piques Deaton’s interest. Thick black lines of ink in the outline of an eye, leading to a circle that spirals around the symbol.

“That’s an interesting tattoo,” he comments.

“I know,” Stiles responds, purposefully sliding his hands into his pockets. Deaton keeps his face carefully blank but from the glint in Stiles’ eye, it’s like he knows that the vet isn’t used to being on this side of the evasive answers. “The disappearances, Doc?”

“Very well,” Deaton takes the cue to search through his file cabinet for the few sheets of information he has on the kidnappings. “Take a look for yourself and tell me what you think.”

Stiles flips through the pages, humming faintly at each one. “Think we can plant this firmly in the not-normal category. These people are… tenacious. Imagine kidnapping people over a whole year just to limit your chances of being caught.”

“Perhaps,” Deaton muses. “Perhaps there’s something more specific than that. Maybe these kidnappings had to be precise.”

“Maybe,” Stiles taps one of the pages. “What’s the significance of twelve?”

“You tell me.”

“So you don’t know. And the flower at each disappearance is…”

“Mandrake,” Deaton supplies, watching the young man closely. There’s no indication in his expression that he recognizes anything or perhaps has any ideas regarding these disappearances. In fact, his expression is a little _too_ blank, as if he’s deliberately not giving anything away. And Deaton doesn’t doubt that he isn’t.

“Interesting. Most witchcraft uses the root, not the bloom. That’s probably significant.”

“And you know about witchcraft, do you?” the vet asks in an offhanded manner. Stiles glances up at him but doesn’t respond to that, flicking to the next page.

“Okay, see, this is why I’m asking,” he leans back grimly. “When did you find the first body?”

“Tuesday,” Deaton responds carefully. “And another one yesterday.”

“You don’t know much about them?” Stiles taps the page again, which only has a few lines of information on it.

“Not as much as I’d like, no,” Deaton shakes his head. “I was asked about yesterday’s body, due to some disfigurement, but Sheriff Stilinski requested for Scott’s consult this time. Other than that, I was asked to identify what was used to bind the bodies.” He holds up a sample of the bindings. “It’s–”

“Wormwood.”

“Yes, you know of it?”

“I’ve never seen it used like this before.”

“Neither have I.”

“What disfiguring?” Stiles looks up from the file. “On the body?”

“His face was damaged but only his. The first victim was intact. At least, as far as I’m aware.”

Stiles glances back down at the file, sifting through the pages again to pull out a photo of a body. For the first time since he’s arrived, his façade slips: he looks a little worried. “Is this the first victim?”

Deaton nods, watching him closely again.

“Bindings around the wrists, ankles and neck. And this brand on the chest is interesting. What about all these leaves and berries on his body? Where are they from?”

Deaton looks faintly amused. “He was dumped in the woods at midnight and wasn’t discovered until midday. It’s likely foliage from the surrounding trees.”

“None of the surrounding trees have any berries,” Stiles points out, holding the photo out. “This isn’t from the body dump.”

Deaton’s smirk wipes off his face, examining the photo closely. Stiles is right, none of the foliage in the photo match what the victim is covered in. “Perhaps these are from where he was killed. Do you recognize them?”

“From a photo? No, I’d need to actually see the berries. I’m guessing, however, we won’t actually have any of those if they were dismissed as foliage from the woods.”

Deaton frowns faintly but he knows Stiles is right. He’d been too busy examining the image of the body, to pay attention to the surroundings. “The brand on the chest,” he says, “it’s a Triquetra.”

“I know,” Stiles says oddly. “It’s a Celtic symbol. It’s too vague to mean anything. Too many supernatural creatures can trace their roots back to Celtic traditions. Like Druids.”

“You think a Druid might have done this?”

“No, I think it’s a Celtic ritual,” Stiles responds with a loose shrug. “Druids are just the most popular for using those.”

“Are you going to accuse me of killing people again?”

Stiles frowns harshly at the vet. “Tell me, Doc, how come you’re out of the loop so much? After all, I thought you were Scott’s mentor.”

“It’s not quite what you’re thinking,” Deaton answers smoothly, oddly smug to see Stiles’ mask slip so much. “Scott has simply appointed Lydia as emissary to the McCall pack and thus, she is the first consult they look for in cases like these.”

“The Banshee?” Stiles tilts his head curiously, all anger suddenly forgotten.

“Yes.” Deaton frowns at him. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Stiles neatens the pages and passes them back towards Deaton. “Thanks for the help, Doc. But I have places to be, people to see and all that.”

Before Deaton can formulate a response, Stiles has disappeared through the door to the waiting room. By the time the veterinarian can react enough to follow, he’s completely gone.

*

Stiles’ next stop after Deaton’s is the Nemeton.

The beacon of Beacon Hills, hidden in the heart of the Preserve: Stiles has been connected to the Tree ever since he sacrificed himself twelve years ago to save his Dad. And now it might be the best place to get some answers about the recent sacrifices.

He parks his van at his Dad’s and decides to walk there. He’s driven around the town a couple of times since he returned but he feels like a walk might do him some good.

Plus he’s fitter now, so he doesn’t baulk at the prospect of walking all the way to the Preserve.

It’s a cool day – it’s still early in the year – but there’s no hint of any rain in the air, so he doesn’t need to worry about getting caught out by the weather. At least, not for a few hours anyway. It’s a newer talent, being able to taste the air for weather patterns, but it’s useful and sometimes it’s just fun to do.

He can also taste scents and magic and other things on the air if he feels inclined to do so, but there’s nothing odd reaching his senses right now, so he doesn’t feel the need.

The walk is longer than he remembered and his breaths are sharp by the time he reaches the edge of the woodland, but he feels more clearheaded and refreshed than he’s felt in days. The trees seem to welcome him beyond the boundary, swaying gently in the breeze. Stray leaves tickle his face and the branches seem to part to let him through.

The Nemeton is buried deep into the woods. That’s partly what makes it hard to find if you don’t know where it is. There are no hiking trails leading that deep into the trees, no noticeable paths to follow where you won’t get lost.

The only reason Stiles trusts that _he’ll_ find it, despite so many years away from the place, is that the trees will guide him as long as they know where he wants to go. That’s the other thing about the Nemeton: it somehow can’t be found if you aren’t looking for it.

It is a magic tree and all that.

As he wanders farther into the woodland, a pleasant buzz settles under his skin, almost like a purr. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling but the contentedness that accompanies it is not something he’s felt often. He knows he’s connected to the Nemeton and it knows it too and it’s like coming home as he breaches the clearing in which the ancient tree grows.

There used to be a root cellar, built from the wood of the Nemeton, but it collapsed twelve years ago. Nature has grown around what remains of it, reclaiming it back to the tree.

Stiles approaches what’s left of the tree with ease, placing his hands on the smooth stump. The buzzing under his skin ratchets up a few notches and, under his palm, he can feel the tree humming in response.

Behind him, the entire forest seems to light up and he can feel all the trees and plants and birds and butterflies thrumming through his veins. His vision is brighter and when he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the forest whispering to him. He can’t always understand what it says but he’s not always meant to.

He doesn’t remember the Preserve feeling this powerful the last time he set foot in it – which, to be fair, was twelve years ago – but perhaps that had been because he hadn’t been as in tune with the Nemeton as he feels now.

But the real reason he had come here is to see if there’s any connection between the Nemeton and these sacrifices, or even if there’s any change or disturbance that he should be aware of. He doesn’t have a memory of the town’s energy to compare it to, but he can listen to the trees and taste the air and feel the energy crackle around him; he knows what it feels like when something feels wrong, even if he doesn’t know what it feels like when it feels right.

There’s nothing on the surface that jumps out at him, but Stiles isn’t satisfied by just a glimpse. With so few clues as to who the culprit is – not that Stiles doesn’t have his suspicions – there’s always the chance that they are capable of covering their tracks; he needs to go deeper and pick apart every strand of energy and make sure everything is the way it’s supposed to be.

He settles down to the forest floor, crossing his legs with his back against the tree. Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths to ease himself into a clearer state of mind. He doesn’t meditate often these days, not to the depths he intends to in this moment, so he’s glad he brought his iPod along.

A trick a friend had taught him for meditating with a busy mind: use music as a focus point and then follow it to a deeper state of being.

His ADHD may have subsided over the years, particularly with his training, but he still thinks too much and still focuses on too many things at once. So meditating with music had been a godsend of a tip.

He breathes deeply, focusing on every scent that tickles his nose: from the sweet wildness of the flowers to the gentle mustiness of trees to the dirty tang of animal droppings. He feels every twist of the breeze and hears every shift of the leaves. The sun beats down through the canopy to warm his face and the Nemeton hums comfortably at his back.

Under conditions like this, it’s easy to get lost.

As he slips deeper into his meditative state, he can feel the energy of the town growing stronger, and deep in his mind’s eye, he can see it too.

He takes his time to examine every strand, every crackle, every loose end. His connection with the forest and the Nemeton guide him through it all. He can feel the warps where the bodies were found and he thinks those distortions are where each person had been taken from but there’s no connections or trails or clues as to what the ritual is or what it’s supposed to do. There’s a couple of spots where things are… fuzzy but he can’t understand why.

The Nemeton feels disappointed: it must be able to sense the changes and warps but it’s not directly affected by them. It might have been counting on Stiles – if he was egotistical enough to believe that – to figure out the altered energy patterns and trace them to a source but he doesn’t understand them either.

There’s the distinct taste of it being unnatural, which is probably what happens when it’s ritualistic, but there’s nothing that stands out as _wrong_. There’s no origin for the warps and no rippling impact on the magic of the town. All Stiles can tell is that the ritual is not meant to affect the Nemeton or its territory. Not directly, at least.

With one last examination of the energy, Stiles begins to pull himself out of his trance.

He’s not sure how much time has passed – it only feels like 30 minutes or so – but when he opens his eyes, the sun is setting and the sky has darkened enough to see the faint twinkle of starlight above the trees.

He feels stiff from sitting too long, and tired from being so deep in a trance. The Nemeton hums gently behind him and he feels a small burst of energy through the connection that drives him to stand up and stretch, which helps to reinvigorate him.

He presses his hands to the stump one more time before leaving, as if to say goodbye, then slips away into the forest to follow the trees home.

He feels Derek before he sees him.

He’s not even sure how he recognizes it’s him. Stiles doesn’t know what Derek feels like: he hasn’t been here in twelve years, and he had no idea what Derek felt like before he left, and he hasn’t met him since he came home to get a read on him.

But the energy thrumming between the trees is that of a werewolf’s and a voice deep in his head tells him it’s Derek.

And when they finally lay eyes on each other, Stiles recognizes him. A shifted wolf, big and black and blending with the shadows of the trees. Really, it’s the red eyes that give him away. There may be two Alphas in Beacon Hills but only born wolves have been able to achieve the wolf shift form.

Derek looks at him, tilting his head in a curious fashion. Stiles can’t tell what he’s thinking: partly because it’s been twelve years and partly because he’s a wolf.

Then, just as silently as he’d appeared, Derek turns and disappears back into the trees.

Stiles stands for a moment, staring after the Alpha, but the trees whisper to him and he feels a fuzzy kind of tired so he eventually makes his way back out of the woods.

*

Derek gets back from his Saturday run just as the moon rises in the sky.

He doesn’t get to run as much as he’d like, between Jennifer and his job, so he makes the most of it when he can.

He’ll drive to the woods, shift to his wolf form and let that side of him take the reins as he gets lost among the trees. It’s more fun that way, he feels, and it’s a nice way to indulge in his animal side. Plus it keeps him in shape for full moons and when he needs to shift or run in emergencies.

Jennifer doesn’t like his wolf shift much though, so he tries not to overdo it. She doesn’t like the way it makes him act or smell, or feel. He tends to keep wolf shift specifically for full moons, for her benefit, but something in the Preserve tonight had drawn his wolf out, howling in his chest for freedom.

He doesn’t really know, or remember, what it had been though. He only has vague memories of his run, a general idea of where he’d been, but the wolf had claimed most of his mind tonight and probably most of the memories too.

“You’re late back,” his girlfriend is reading a book on his sofa. “How was your run?”

“Fine,” Derek responds, a little uncomfortable to mention any details to her. “I was just gonna grab a shower. Did you start dinner?”

“Oh, not yet,” Jennifer responds, dropping her book. She squints at him and he smiles gently at her. “Did you wolf shift? I thought you didn’t do that anymore.”

“Just for a little while,” he shrugs. “Sorry, I know you don’t like it. I’ll grab that shower then make us some food.”

Jennifer smiles tightly. “Why’d you wolf shift? You told me you only did that on full moons. It’s not a full moon tonight, is it?”

“No,” Derek shakes his head. “I just felt a pull when I got to the woods. All these disappearances and now deaths have me on edge. I think I just needed to forget about it for a while, let the wolf out.”

“You know I don’t like it when you do that, right?”

It’s a conversation they’ve had before. Derek’s wolf burns under his skin, he can’t deny that, no matter how much he loves Jennifer. Sometimes he just needs to let it out.

“I know,” he responds patiently.

“You can make it up to me by cooking that curry I love,” she smiles again, but it’s sweeter this time. “There’s wine in the fridge we can have with it.”

“Of course,” Derek moves forward to steal a kiss but Jennifer neatly avoids his movement.

“Shower first,” she says pointedly. Derek doesn’t respond, except to disappear towards the bathroom to rinse away his run in the woods.

Jennifer keeps a little distance for the rest of the night. He’s used to it, he thinks. Every time there’s a full moon or when he just wolf shifts for the freedom, she pulls away. She mentions that he still feels like a wolf when she touches him and she doesn’t like it.

She says he still smells like one too, even after his shower.

She sometimes doesn’t even like seeing his beta shift. Derek has never asked her why but tonight, lying next to her in bed, he finds himself wondering. Sometimes his wolf fights him about it, like it’s telling him she doesn’t like his wolf side.

If she didn’t like that he was a werewolf, she wouldn’t be with him, would she? And yet, he doesn’t shift around her anymore. Tries to be as human as possible when he’s with her. And not because he wants to but because _she_ wants him to.

His wolf burns under his skin, trying to reach out again. He pushes it back down.

They’ve been together twelve years. He can make a few compromises, if he has to. He loves her, after all.

*

**April 14th.**

It’s a weird day.

Stiles is at a small grocery store, picking up a few ingredients for dinner. He’s dug out his cookbook so he can make something new for his Dad every night. Tonight, he’s going for a traditional, if easy, Indian curry with vegetable samosas and his own take on naan bread.

He’s excited to share this with his Dad. Especially because he’s missed twelve years of family dinners; he can make up for all those nights by cooking dinner for the rest of his life.

He’d be more excited, if he didn’t feel like someone was watching him.

For the tenth time since he entered the store, he glances over his shoulder, evaluating the other customers and trying to shake the paranoia. Everyone, and everything, is completely normal – he’d be able to sense it if they weren’t – and there’s no sign of any shadowy figures following him through the aisles. But he still can’t help the prickle at the back of his neck.

The entire day feels weird. He’d felt it since he’d woken up this morning: a tension in the air that makes him stand a little sharper, a little more aware of his surroundings. He hasn’t had an anxiety attack in a long time – and a panic attack in even longer – but there’s something suffocating about this edginess that makes him feel that he’s one wrong step away from one.

As it is, he’s so caught up in his thoughts that he ends up being one wrong step away from bumping into someone and dropping his shopping.

“Aw, shit,” he whines, watching it roll on the floor, “there go my tomatoes.”

He almost forgets why he dropped them in the first place as he grabs them off the floor to check for any bruising. Almost, until he glances up to apologize and the words die on his lips.

“Stiles?”

“Oh, hey… Scott.”

They stand in the middle of the aisle for a long minute, just staring at each other. Scott looks some mixture of shocked, disbelieving and… confused, maybe.

Stiles shuffles on his feet, glancing down at his tomatoes and then back at Scott. His former best friend is just standing in the middle of the shop, watching him with an unblinking gaze. Stiles squirms slightly under the scrutiny.

It’s been twelve years since they last spoke. Stiles hadn’t said goodbye before leaving, worried that he might somehow change his mind, and he’d always been too scared to reach out and make contact; and by the time he might have been brave enough, he’d felt it had been too long to send anything, and just avoided it altogether.

Now he wishes he’d sent just one postcard or even a text, if it would make this less awkward.

He doesn’t know what to say, and from the look on Scott’s face, he doesn’t seem to know either. Stiles wonders, distantly, if Scott hadn’t known he was here before bumping in to him. Which raises a question of how well his scent is muted these days. He mutes it for safety reasons but it should still be noticeable to a werewolf’s nose; maybe Scott doesn’t remember what he smells like.

“Been a while huh?” he offers hesitantly, feeling the urge to fill the silence; a mind-set he’d been growing out of before this moment.

“Yeah,” Scott trails off, beginning to look as awkward as Stiles feels. It’s weird, he thinks, to be faced with his best friend and not know what to say. He’d known this moment would happen, but he had underestimated how bad it would be.

“So, how’ve you been?” Stiles asks at the same time Scott says, “I heard you were back.”

They both pause for a moment, before Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair. “From my Dad?”

“Isaac saw you at the station,” Scott corrects. His words are stilted, like he’s still trying to figure out how to approach this conversation. Stiles knows that he’s struggling himself.

“Right, that makes sense.” Stiles vaguely recalls his Dad talking about Isaac joining the force and being promoted to a deputy a few years ago.

They fall into silence once again. Scott seems to have run out of things to say that probably don’t involve shouting about his absence or questions Stiles isn’t ready to answer or telling him to get lost.

Stiles can see the thoughts flitting over his face, unsure and hesitant. Similar thoughts are probably running through his own head but for once, he’s not listening to them.

Instead, he takes a step towards his old friend. “Um, listen,” and he manages to tamp down a reaction at the way Scott’s eyes snap sharply onto his face, “there’s this café near here I’ve been meaning to check out. If you’d want to maybe get a coffee with me or something…”

Scott frowns at him for long enough that Stiles wonders if he’d even heard the offer. But he starts to nod slowly, and all the anxiety that he hadn’t even felt clutching at his chest vanishes almost instantly.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay, let me just pay for these groceries and then we can head there.”

His tomatoes aren’t damaged, thankfully – not that he couldn’t have fixed them if they were – so he just grabs the rest of his shopping and heads for the checkout. Scott follows him, still somewhat hesitant; but Stiles also gets the idea that the Alpha doesn’t want to let him out of his sight – perhaps in case he decides to do a runner again.

Which, not that he hadn’t considered it very briefly, but he’s not going to chicken out of this like he did every postcard he tried to send. He’s better than that these days.

*

Stiles isn’t necessarily regretting the offer of coffee but they haven’t exactly said many words to each other the whole way here. In fact, they’ve said none and Stiles once again is fighting the urge to open his mouth and ramble, the way he used to, to fill the silence.

Silence isn’t a bad thing, it just happens to be… awkward.

“So,” and this time it’s Scott taking the lead, “how’ve you been?”

Stiles takes a deep breath, reaches for some of that self-assured confidence he’d grown over the years, and smiles faintly at him. “I know that’s not what you want to ask me.”

“Not really, no,” Scott admits, staring at his coffee, rather than Stiles.

“Look, I won’t promise I can, or _will_, answer everything but you won’t know unless you ask.”

“Where do you want me to start?” Scott bursts out. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you keep in touch? Where did you go? Why did you never come back? What happened to you? You were my brother, Stiles, why did you _abandon_ me?”

Stiles flinches slightly. “Um, maybe one question at a time?”

Scott hesitates, before finally letting out a breath. “Why did you come back?”

“It was time,” Stiles responds simply. It’s not exactly the whole truth but enough of it that Scott wouldn’t able to tell; if Stiles wasn’t already hiding his heartbeat.

“But why now? Why not six years ago or something?”

Contemplating his answer, Stiles bites on his lip before answering. “Because I wasn’t ready six years ago. I’m ready now.”

“Why did you leave in the first place?”

“Everyone deals with their darkness differently,” Stiles keeps his answer purposefully vague.

“You didn’t have to leave though. You could have asked for help.”

“You couldn’t have helped me.”

“I could have tried,” Scott argues vehemently. “The pack helped me, they could have helped you too. You could have _asked_.”

“I’m not like you,” Stiles responds somewhat gently. “I didn’t have the kind of connection to the pack that you did. I didn’t need that kind of help.”

“But why did you need to _leave_?”

“It felt right at the time.” He doesn’t really need to go into the details about it; nor does he want to talk about why he never came back. That would lead to things he’s not ready to reveal to anyone just yet; except his Dad.

“You didn’t even tell me,” Scott says unhappily. “When you left. You just disappeared and I had no idea where you were or why you left or anything. You never told me.”

“I… I wanted to, Scott, you have no idea but I couldn’t. I needed to leave and I couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t have changed my mind. It was better for me to just cut contact.” Stiles twists his fingers together anxiously. “At least, at the time it was. I tried to reach out but I could never find the words, I guess.”

Scott leans back, studying Stiles intently. Once upon a time, Stiles could have recognized the look in his eyes, but he’s a bit rusty now. Scott’s older, and he’s grown a lot, just like Stiles, and they’re both different now. It’s weird, he thinks again, to be so close to someone he once considered a brother and at the same time, feel so far away from him.

Stiles focuses on his coffee instead of his former friend. It’s nice, he thinks, taking a quick drink of it. Once upon a time, he might have overloaded on the sugar and the cream, but he’s learned to appreciate the simple, if bitter, taste of plain coffee. Or perhaps he just learned how to not need an overload of sugar in his veins.

“So where’d you go?” Scott draws his attention back.

Stiles chuckles, relaxing slightly. “All over, honestly. I transferred to LA to finish out the school year and then just went everywhere. Europe, Asia, Africa, South America. If I could walk on it, I walked on it. I mean, that’s a bit of an exaggeration but, yeah, I went all over.”

“You went travelling? I thought you just moved away.”

“No, I went on a journey. Jeez, that makes it sound like I found Pokémon. I mean, I kind of just went wherever I felt like going. Never stayed longer than a few months.”

“Why not?”

“Nowhere ever felt like home enough to stay. I always planned to come back, you know. My Dad is here and this is the town I grew up in for seventeen years and I always wanted to come home. I never found another place that could rival that.”

_Except,_ he thinks, _maybe once_.

“So,” Scott starts slowly, “tell me about all the places you visited?”

Stiles smiles. He doesn’t want to tell Scott everything about all his travels, but he can tell him about the sights he saw and the food he tried and the cultures he learned about.

Some of them, at least. Twelve years of history will require more than a coffee.

*

Alix sits behind her lover, braiding her hair, while she works on her newest spell. She has these long, blonde locks that Alix loves to run her fingers through. They’re a noticeable contrast to her own ink-black waves and much more fun to play with.

Mera hums tunelessly at the fingers working through her scalp, laying ingredients out in front of her. The spell is nothing fancy, just an attempt at a dream curse. She already has a few simple ones up her sleeve, but there’s nothing wrong with experimenting with power. Especially when their targets are less than susceptible to magical attacks.

Damn Shields, ruining all their fun.

Less than an hour until midnight. Alix keeps an eye on the clock as she ties off a long braid with a delicate ribbon. Can’t let anyone down by missing their deadline.

“What do you think?” Mera holds out a piece of parchment, a incantation hurriedly scrawled across the page.

Her lover inspects the wording and she can hear her reading it out under her breath. “Maybe switch fear for panic,” she suggests, tapping on a line. “Nightmares are always scary. But how many steal your breath? And here, this line, it’s too vague.”

“Thanks, love,” Mera kisses her hand and quickly makes adjustments to the incantation. “Now all I need is to get the correct combination and we will weaken their defences.”

“Have we heard back from the Mourning brothers yet?” Alix asks, beginning another braid in her hair.

“Not yet,” Mera responds despondently. “I do not doubt that they will come but this will help keep our advantage in the meantime. I was also thinking you could contact Felipe on the Eastern Coast. Perhaps we can enlist his nest for help.”

Alix smiles a wicked smile. “My dear Mera, you are so ingenious. I am sure that would help keep those pesky wolves busy until it is too late to intervene.”

“Yes. We just need to make sure they do not kill anything we still need.”

“Speaking of, we should probably go make our preparations,” Alix ties off another braid, before standing and stretching. “It is almost time for our next harvest.”

Mera dusts off her hands and wraps up the ingredients for later use, before following her lover. She sneaks a kiss against her cheek as they walk, just to hear her giggle, before they both disappear into the next room, the door swinging shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to drive the point home that Stiles' birthday is April 12th in this fic. According to some official sources I can't remember, his birthday is supposedly April 8th? so I just moved it up a few days. the 12 is significant across the board.
> 
> An insight into Jennifer and Derek's relationship is not as healthy as it first appeared. This fic is Sterek endgame; there is a lot of underlying reasons that will appear in later chapters as to why Derek is with Jennifer and how he ends up with Stiles instead.
> 
> Also, Alix and Mera: first of all, I need more lesbian representation. but they have a really nice relationship, sweet and cute and fun and #shipgoals and I could love it, even tho they're antagonistic to the plot.


	3. physicality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three's a pattern:
> 
> A small clue points to a potential lead. Scott reaches out to Stiles, and Cora grapples with her weaknesses. A fight in the woods reveals a new power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone mentioned ages in a comment so to clarify: Isaac is 29; Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Cora are 30. Allison, Ethan and Aiden are 31. Derek is around 36. The new betas, Sammi, Felix and David are 25, 27 and 31 respectively. Jennifer has _very specifically_ not been aged.
> 
> Speaking of, y'all's comments were insane inspiration for writing this. I wanna do y'all proud and hearing that you're liking what you've read so far basically forced me to sit down and keep writing.
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING (spoilers):** Discussion of mild _SELF-HARM_ and _SUICIDAL TENDENCIES_ between Derek and Cora; plus _BLOOD && GORE_ in later parts. Tags have been updated.

**April 15th.**

Scott’s Monday goes something like this.

He wakes up early for his shift at the veterinarian’s. Lydia’s up just as early and she makes him a gentle breakfast that they share together before their day truly begins.

He has a few appointments over the morning. A check-up, two follow-ups and one cat with an ear infection. The animals are all a little antsier than usual: it’s normal for the cats to complain about his presence, but when the dogs do too, that’s a sign that they can sense the same tension in the air that he can.

He’s beginning to figure out what it means, given that he’s felt it twice before; but he’s refusing to rise to the bait until the Sheriff or Isaac calls him with news.

In between each appointment, while he cleans the examination room, he thinks about Stiles.

Bumping into him yesterday had been… unexpected. Even more so because Scott doesn’t frequent that grocery store; there’s one closer to his apartment. Yet, when he thinks about it, he remembers feeling drawn towards that part of town. He’s not sure why, unless his wolf had sensed Stiles? Scott hadn’t even scented his scent until they’d bumped into each other, he’s not sure how he would have known Stiles had been there.

And even then, Scott had been under the impression that he’d rather run a mile in the other direction than risk seeing his old friend.

Sitting down for coffee with him hadn’t been the worst thing in the world though. In fact, it had probably been for the best: get the awkwardness out of the way earlier so they can start getting to know each other again.

Because while Scott hasn’t decided if he forgives Stiles for the way he left yet, he still wants the man in his life. They have a connection that Scott’s never come close to with anyone ever since; not even Derek and he’s going to be his best man.

It’ll never really be the same again, not since they’ve had twelve years to grow apart, but Scott is willing to work for their friendship.

He just hopes Stiles feels the same.

When he takes his lunch break, he gets a phone call from Isaac.

“Leah Scott,” is what he’s greeted with.

Scott knows that name, all the pack do. It’s been branded into their memory since June of last year: the third person to be taken.

“Is she missing anything?”

Isaac hesitates for a beat. “It’s a weird one.”

“Weirder than a face?”

“She’s missing her spine.”

“Naturally,” Scott mutters. How do you take a person’s spine?

“Everything else is there. Her bones, I mean. It’s just her spine. She’s all floppy when you try to move her. It’s kind of gross.”

“She’s dead,” Scott points out, and Isaac mumbles an apology. “Was it cut out or something?”

“Don’t know. Probably won’t until they do the autopsy and stuff. There’s no incisions in her skin or anything, none that we can see anyway. Just like Jeffery Williams: they somehow got into his skull and removed his brain without actually getting into his skull.”

“And Terry Morgan’s face. Allison said they never found evidence of an actual physical tool used. Like they melted it off but without any heat.”

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees. There’s a murmur of voices on the other side of the phone. “Oh, apparently Deaton requested a sample of the leaves the victim is covered in. Know anything about that?”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, even though Isaac can’t see it. “He never said anything about that to me. I thought the victims were just covered in stuff from the trees around the Preserve.”

“Yeah, so did I,” Isaac responds. “I gotta get back, paperwork to file, evidence to gather, bodies to recover, all that stuff. I’ll catch you later.”

Scott murmurs a response before hanging up. He’s completely distracted from Stiles now, too busy thinking about this case. It’s unlike anything they’ve ever faced before. These witches, or whoever they are, are meticulous. And incredibly patient, to plan this ritual for over a year before they need to enact it.

Lydia’s still scouring through their books, trying to find anything that matches what they know so far. Felix has been calling some of the nearby libraries for books on Celtic rituals and beliefs. Even Peter has been roped in to reach out to his own contacts for information, and they’re still coming up empty.

Scott sighs, rubbing the tension headache building in his temple. He still has a few afternoon appointments to get through before he can deal with this information.

He hopes Lydia’s having a better day than him.

*

“I think that’s all the books we have at the moment,” Felix drops the last book on onto the table that’s already creaking under the mountain they’ve found so far.

“Great,” Cora mutters, dragging her fingers across the spines. “More reading.”

“You don’t have to help, you know,” he suggests gently. “I can do it myself. I do work here after all.”

Cora sighs, shaking her head. “I’ll help. If only so I can pretend I’m contributing.”

“Don’t talk like that, you contribute plenty.”

“How?” she snaps fiercely, and Felix flinches back. She scrubs a hand over her face. “Sorry. I just… What exactly do I do for the pack anymore? I can’t help them look for bodies or witches or anything like that. I never read half the stuff in my parents’ library, when it still existed, so I can’t help out in that aspect. All I can do is read a thousand useless books.”

“They’re not useless,” Felix argues, although he stops and rethinks his words. “I mean, I guess they won’t really help us solve this thing with the sacrifices. They have a lot of info, though. There might be something in there we can use.”

“I need something better than ‘might be’,” she knocks one of the books down. “I don’t want to read all of these books on the possibility that I _might_ find something. I wanna read them and feel certain that I _will_ find something. Something that’s better than nothing.”

“Well, maybe we don’t have to read all of them,” Felix starts taking a few books off the top of the pile. “Maybe we can go through them and discard the ones that won’t help us at all. Like this one about Celtic recipes,” he squints at it. “I mean, I’m sure it’s an interesting read, but we don’t think these people are eating their victims so we can put that back. And what about this one about farmland and the animals they kept, probably don’t need that one either.”

Cora drops into a seat, trying not to slump too much. “How many of these books are about rituals and beliefs?”

“Too many,” Felix cringes. “Sorry. I know it’s not any fun for you. Maybe we can find a way to make it easier. Like what if I read and you take notes and then we compile them later? We might find things that are useful outside of the sacrifices, things maybe Lydia can use in her spells and stuff. That’s a form of contribution, right?”

She recognizes what he’s trying to do: find ways to make the research more fun for her, or at least more meaningful, when she’s struggling with feeling meaningless.

Felix is like that, she thinks. He tries his best to understand her struggles and help with them. Even though he has no idea what it’s like to lose his wolf, he probably does understand what it’s like to feel weak in a pack. It’s not quite the same, and Cora would love to tear apart his old pack for hurting him like that – if they ever find them – but there’s still something of a connection there, a mutual understanding.

She smiles at him suddenly and he blinks in surprise. “You know what, it’s fine. I can handle a little bit of reading. And you’re right, we might find something. Even if it’s not about the disappearances, it might still help. Anything is better than nothing.”

He smiles shyly back at her. “It’s not like we’re stuck here. Maybe if it gets too much, we can go for a walk. Grab a coffee or something.”

“I’d like that,” she responds warmly, and when he sits down next to her with a book, she reaches under the table for his hand, entwining their fingers together.

He might not have been asking her on a date, but that doesn’t mean it can’t turn into one.

*

Jeffery Williams is an incident. Terry Morgan is a coincidence. Leah Scott is a pattern.

The pack are sprawled out around Derek’s loft, each of them with books and laptops and notes about the disappearances and murders. And by pack, he means himself, Scott, Lydia, Allison and Isaac.

Derek wouldn’t necessarily think of them as the inner circle, but Scott turns to them for help before he turns to the rest of the pack; and so does he, if he’s honest. The five of them have stronger bonds with each other than they do with the rest of the pack. Part of that is probably down to being the original members; and part of it might be down to the trials they fought through as a result of the darkness both Scott and Allison carry with them.

Or the darkness they _used_ to carry; it’s all but non-existent now.

“So first a brain,” Scott lists slowly, garnering their attention, “then a face, _specifically_; and now a spine? What are they trying to do, build Frankenstein?”

“Frankenstein was the scientist,” Lydia corrects absently.

“So what was the monster called?”

“Igor?” Isaac suggests.

Lydia glances up from her book. “Igor was the assistant. The monster had no name.”

“Okay, but you get my point, right? It’s like they’re trying to build a body,” Scott gestures wildly around the room.

“Why?” Allison asks from the sofa. All eyes swivel to her. “Why would they need to build a body? They have eleven perfectly healthy ones. What’s the point?”

“Technically they only have seven now,” Isaac supplies unhelpfully, earning a flat glare from the huntress.

“Maybe they need the perfect body?” Lydia suggests.

“Again, why? If this is for a demon or something, they aren’t exactly picky with their hosts. And they have seven perfectly healthy hosts already. A body drawn from mutilated parts doesn’t strike me as desirable.”

“Maybe it’s not about the body, maybe it’s about the person,” Lydia sits up and shuffles through her notes. “Williams was a teacher, the brain is probably the part of the body most commonly associated with that job.”

“What do you associate with magicians?” Isaac asks.

“I don’t know, the hands?”

“Well, they took his face, so.”

“What did Leah Scott do?” Allison asks.

“She was a firefighter,” Scott glances at her file. “Associating that with the spine is a bit vague though. Lots of jobs require spines.”

“To have a spine means you have courage.” Derek doesn’t always speak during pack meetings but people know to listen when he does.

“To have brains means you’re smart,” Lydia catches on quick.

“And to have a face means what?” Isaac points out. “Haven’t we already looked for similarities between the victims before? I think we’re trying to see patterns that aren’t there.”

“The magician doesn’t really fit in,” Allison agrees. “And Scott’s right, the spine thing is too vague. And none of it helps us find the people doing it.”

Scott sighs, sitting back in his seat. He’s been staring at the pages so long, the words are imprinted on his eyes. Even when he closes them he can still see them running through his mind and jumbling up his thoughts.

“How did they die?” Derek asks.

“You think it’s important?” Isaac counters.

“Well, I can’t find it mentioned anywhere, so either it isn’t, or we don’t know.”

Scott cracks an eye open as everyone swings back around to Allison.

“Uh, we don’t know,” she admits carefully. “At least, no one could ever find a cause. Their hearts just stopped. No sign of any trauma or injury or anything that could account for their deaths. And we still don’t know how they’re removing the body parts. These witches or whoever they are, they’re very clean about it all.”

“Have we actually considered who might be doing this?” Isaac hedges carefully, and there’s something about the way he asks that that draws Scott’s attention.

“We don’t have much evidence,” he responds. “Not enough to say definitively.”

“Well, the triquetra is Celtic, right? And we know Druids use Celtic symbolism. And the sacrifices back in high school, they were Celtic, weren’t they?”

“Where are you going with this?” Scott asks pointedly.

“Well, we do happen to know of a couple Druids, one of whom is known for their Celtic rituals involving sacrifices.”

“Jennifer is _not_ the Darach!” Derek snaps, and distantly he wonders why he jumps to that conclusion first.

Isaac shuffles back a few inches at the reaction and Allison’s hand touches his shoulder gently. “No one’s saying that, Derek,” she soothes.

“Yeah, I mean, I know she isn’t. But what if the actual Darach is back somehow? Like from what we know about them, this seems like their kind of thing.”

“Does it?” Lydia interjects. “The Darach sacrificed in threes. Virgins, warriors, healers, philosophers and guardians. And with each set, she gained _something_ from them. What’s to gain from these deaths except body parts that may or may not symbolize personality attributes?” She taps gently on her laptop screen, where she has website upon website open. “Besides, the triquetra might be Celtic in origin but that’s not all it’s used for anymore. There’s no way to know for sure exactly what kind of ritual this is, except to try and rule out the kinds it isn’t.”

“Have we heard back from Cora and Felix yet?” Scott asks.

Lydia shakes her head. “According to Felix, they’ve found a few dozen books about the Celts and their beliefs, not including the ones they’re receiving from other sources. They’re still sorting the relevant ones from the ones that aren’t. Last I heard, though, they had gone out for coffee together.” She exchanges a smile with Allison; that last part counts as good news.

“Okay, well, do we have anything that we didn’t already know?”

“Maybe,” Isaac fumbles for his phone. “Not sure how good it is but I told you how Deaton wanted to look at the stuff the victims were covered in?”

Scott nods, making a mental note to ask his mentor about that next time he sees him.

“What stuff?” Allison asks. “I thought they were naked.”

“Oh, they were all covered in leaves and berries and stuff from the woods,” Isaac explains quickly. “We didn’t really think anything of it, because that’s where they were found? But Deaton wanted to look at it closer and he said…” he scrolls through his phone for the text, “apparently it’s from a yew tree? Which, I don’t really know what’s important about that, except that there weren’t any yew trees where the bodies were found.”

“So it could be a clue as to where they were killed?” Lydia sits up, sounding more excited. “If they’re all covered in it, that might mean they were all killed in the same place. Which sounds about right for this ritual. Maybe we can find it and catch the witches or druids in the act.”

“You know the Preserve better than anyone, any ideas?” Scott directs towards Derek, who shakes his head, looking unsettled.

“The Preserve is a huge area and some of it is still unknown, even to us,” he responds. “It’s not exactly maintained either, things are always changing in there. Plus I don’t even know what a yew tree looks like, so I can’t say whether I’ve seen one or not.”

Isaac pulls a photo up on his phone and stretches over the sofa to show it him. Derek studies it closely but shakes his head again.

“I don’t think so. But, like I said, the Preserve is a big place.”

“Should we try to look for it?” Isaac asks Scott.

“We can at least check out some of the hiking trails and camping spots to see if we can find any,” he says. “If there are parts of the Preserve that even the Hales never found, then it’s safe to assume that these witches wouldn’t have either. Derek, that’s your territory. You should take the lead on this.”

Derek nods his affirmative. He can enlist the younger betas to help, and Cora, since she’s spent more than enough time between the trees as well. Personally, it feels like a wild goose chase, attempting to find one tree among thousands, but he keeps those thoughts to himself. Scott needs to be supported, not undermined; especially by his co-Alpha.

“You guys should head home, get some rest,” the man is saying to Allison and Isaac. “I know you guys have an early start.”

Allison nods, drawing him into a hug. “We’ll see you guys later. Have a good night.”

Derek expects Scott and Lydia to be right behind them but Scott turns back to the two of them and drops down into his seat. The room is quiet while they wait for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it takes Derek a second to realize he’s talking to Lydia. “I was with Stiles yesterday and I didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything, you know,” she reassures, dropping a gentle hand on his knee.

“I know, but I want to,” he responds. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who keeps secrets like that. I wanted to tell you, but I was just still figuring it out, I guess. I’m an idiot, though. You’ve always helped me figure it out.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Lydia smiles warmly. Derek feels like he’s intruding on a private moment until Scott turns to him.

“So have you. You’ve been helping me out a lot longer than I give you credit for, really. So I just need to hear your guys’ thoughts. Like, what do you think about Stiles being back? After all these years?”

“It’s hard to say,” Lydia responds carefully. “I mean, we all saw how his leaving affected you. Some of us more than others. I can’t say I’m… excited about his return right now. But how do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” Scott scrubs a hand down his face. “We went for coffee yesterday. He’s different now. I don’t really know how, but I can tell.”

“You’re both different now,” Lydia points out. “You’ve grown up.”

“What do you think?” Scott turns to Derek.

“I think you should be angry,” he says simply. “Stiles left you without a word, right when you needed him the most. And then he turns up twelve years later, and what? Is he expecting you to welcome him with open arms or something?”

Scott frowns. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he wanted. And it’s not like he sought me out or anything. We just happened to be shopping in the same place at the same time.” Almost like a coincidence, if Scott had still believed in those. “I did ask him why he left.”

“What did he say?” Lydia leans forward, curious about the answer.

“Just that he left to deal with his darkness after the sacrifices.”

“Did he say anything about why he didn’t tell you?” Derek asks and Scott doesn’t need to be a werewolf to tell that he is distinctly unimpressed with Stiles right now.

“That he was worried I would change his mind. I tried to tell him that we would have helped if his darkness was that bad, but he was adamant that he had to leave. He did say he tried to reach out over the years but never had the courage.”

“And you believe him?” Derek asks, and, despite his words, he doesn’t sound patronizing. “He could have just been saying that to make you feel better. You might have had twelve years apart, but Stiles knew you better than anyone for a long time. He probably knows exactly what buttons to push to manipulate you.”

“That doesn’t sound like Stiles,” Lydia counters immediately, and this is why Scott had asked them both. He knows they’ll bring different, somewhat opposing views to the table and hearing both sides will help him figure out where he stands on the issue. “Stiles was his best friend. No matter what they’ve been through, he would never be that cruel. Not to Scott.”

“Lydia’s right,” Scott agrees. “He wouldn’t use my emotions against me like that. But you’re also right. Maybe I should be angry. At least until I get a proper explanation. He wasn’t telling me everything yesterday and I know he was being careful with his answers so I wouldn’t be able to tell if he was lying.” He sighs, tapping his fingers against his knees. “I didn’t push hard enough. I asked and he answered and then we talked about where he went. I should have asked more.”

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you from trying again,” Lydia points out. “We don’t know how long he’s in town for. Maybe you’ll get another chance. You should talk to the Sheriff, see if he knows when Stiles will be around.”

“And if you need one of us with you,” Derek offers. Scott nods gratefully.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll let you know. I’m not working tomorrow, maybe I’ll stop by his house. That’s where he’s likely to be staying, right?” He thinks about it for a moment, just running the plan quickly through his head. “And thank you for this. This is exactly what I needed. To talk about it and hear what you guys think.”

“Anytime,” Derek says and Scott knows by now that he means it. His phone goes off and he pulls it out to read the notification. “I should get going. Jennifer is wondering where I am.”

“You didn’t tell her you’d be here?” Scott asks curiously.

“I did, she was just expecting me back by now.”

Scott exchanges a quick glance with his fiancé. This is… normal behaviour for Jennifer, he thinks, but for some reason, this time it raises a flag. “You know, if there’s anything you ever want to talk about…”

“Thanks but I’m fine,” Derek says, grabbing his jacket, and he sounds fine. He doesn’t even sound like he’s pretending to be fine either. Scott hesitates but nods.

“If you’re sure.” He stands and holds a hand out to Lydia, who’s gathering up her laptop and her notes. “We’re gonna head out too. Have a good night.”

Derek nods and returns Lydia’s smile as the two of them head for the door. He glances down at his phone again, frowning faintly at the message from his girlfriend. Has Jennifer always been so… demanding?

He shrugs it off, shoves his phone away and follows his Alpha to the door.

*

**April 16th.**

Stiles dreams of a comfier bed than the one he’s currently sleeping in. He dreams of soft pillows, warm sheets, and a strong arm around his waist. He dreams of the smell of bacon wafting through the door and lazy, teasing fingers and a sleepy kiss. He dreams of a body in his bed and burrowing deeper into his arms and the sound of a heartbeat against his ear.

He wakes with a name on his lips but it gets stuck in his throat. As the dream disintegrates, he can’t remember who had been in the bed with him. Was his hair dark or light? Green eyes or blue? Past or future? A fantasy or a memory?

The dream vanishes back into the realm of sleep and all he’s left with is the lingering smell of bacon, tickling his nose.

He shoves the sheets back and stretches, scratching at a bite scar on his forearm. His back pops faintly as he stumbles from his bed to grabs his clothes. He touches the cuff around his wrist, affirming it’s still intact, and pulls on his trusty red hoodie.

You’d think, after wearing it for four days straight, he’d have finally put it in with the rest of the laundry but it’s no ordinary hoodie and he never goes anywhere without it.

Besides it always feels freshly washed when he puts it on.

His Dad is at work already – because he apparently slept late – so Stiles is on his own for breakfast today. Which is fine, because now he’s craving bacon.

Thanks, dream!

He’s chewing on a piece of bacon straight from the pan – which is not a smart idea in hindsight – when the doorbell goes. He’s not expecting anyone and his Dad hadn’t mentioned expecting anyone so he approaches with a manner of caution until he realizes who it is.

He swings the door open, smiling apprehensively. “Uh, hey, Scott.”

“Oh, hey, Stiles,” Scott looks slightly surprised to see him but smiles back. Stiles’ll count that as a win.

“Are you looking for my Dad, because he’s at work right now.”

“Um, yeah, I mean, I was, but only because I wanted to see you,” Scott answers after a hesitation. “I wasn’t really sure where you were staying.”

“Well, I was supposed to be staying at a motel but Dad spouted some shit about me needing a safe place to sleep so I wasn’t gonna say no. You’d better come in.” Stiles licks bacon grease off his fingers and gestures for Scott to enter. “I’m actually kind of glad you’re here. Yesterday reminded me of something I wanted to give you.”

“Like a present?” Scott asks. Had Stiles bought him a gift while he was travelling?

“Sort of?” Stiles hedges thoughtfully. “I guess you can decide if it is or not. Hold on, it’s up in the bedroom.”

Scott is completely thrown for a moment. He’d come round, as planned, to try and confront Stiles for some real answers and here he is, with a gift for him. He wants to be angry, because that’s at least something he can trust, but he’s never been able to stay mad at Stiles for too long. So now he’s left in uncertain ground because without anger, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to feel right now.

Stiles makes for his stairs and Scott follows without thinking because old habits die really hard. Stiles doesn’t seem surprised, or at least he doesn’t comment on it.

He’s sleeping in his old bedroom, Scott notes. Which is probably more of a guest room now. He has a couple of open luggage bags tossed in one corner and a pile of clothes on a chair, but it doesn’t look like he’s all that settled in.

“You’re not unpacked?” he asks about it.

Stiles snorts, bee-lining for the luggage. “I’m not hoping to stay long.”

“You’re not?” and Scott berates himself for getting his hopes up that maybe they’ll have a chance to fix their friendship.

“Nah, this is my Dad’s place now,” Stiles doesn’t seem to notice the disappointment in the room. “By 30, the offspring are supposed to be out of the house. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Beacon Hills but I’m gonna see if there are any cheap apartments in town I can rent while I’m here.”

“So are you staying?” Scott amends, trying to sort out his thoughts. Stiles isn’t leaving right away, which sounds like good news, but he might be leaving at some point.

“Honestly,” his old friend glances up from his bags, “I don’t know yet. If I had a reason to, maybe I would.” And Scott has a feeling that Stiles is looking for a specific reason. “If I did leave again, it wouldn’t be like last time, though. I’d say goodbye and I’d try to come back more often. At least, I’d like to. If you’d want me to.”

“I mean, if I thought my opinion would have any impact, I’d want you to stay,” Scott responds and Stiles cringes at that.

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t really have a response for that,” he admits sheepishly, ducking back into his luggage. “Um, but the real reason I haven’t unpacked is that I’ve gotten used to living out of suitcases for twelve years. I’d probably keep forgetting where I’d put everything.”

Scott wonders how comfortable a life that is. To never really have a place to call home, always ready to just up and leave. He wonders if Stiles said goodbye to all the people he met over those years before he left them.

Stiles is suddenly standing in front of him, holding a thick wad of… something. Card, apparently, wrapped up in string. Scott takes the pile hesitantly and on the top is a photo of the Hollywood sign. Scott frowns questioningly at him.

“That’s every postcard I never sent you,” Stiles says.

“You sent me postcards?” he asks stupidly.

“Well, no, that’s the point. I was never brave enough to actually send any but I wrote them. Everywhere I went, every week, I sat down and wrote you a postcard and told you about my travels and what I was doing with my life.” His voice wobbles a little. “I just wanted you to know that, um, even though I wasn’t a part of your life, you were a part of mine.”

Scott stares uncomprehendingly at the pile. He’s completely thrown. This is… He doesn’t even know what it is but something warm blooms in his chest.

“I really am sorry,” Stiles says and his eyes are misted. “That I left you the way I did. I owed you an explanation and I owed you a goodbye and I owed you so much that I never gave you and I know this doesn’t even begin to make up for it, but I hope it’s a start. And I hope you’ll give me a chance to try and make up for the way I completely ruined our friendship.”

“You didn’t,” Scott tries to argue, even though he knows it’s a lie; and, god, he sounds like he’s about to cry too. “Ruin our friendship.”

“Yes, I did,” Stiles counters firmly. “And it’s okay to admit that. It’s okay to be angry at me and it’s okay to be hurt and it’s okay to completely reject all of this. I’ll accept it; it’s the least I deserve. I just hope that you won’t, y’know?”

And shit, what is Scott supposed to say to that? Where’s Lydia when you need her?

“I missed you,” he admits finally, looking up at Stiles. “Not a day went past when I didn’t think of you or wish you were there so I could tell you all the important stuff that was happening. When Derek and I formed a proper pack or when we met our new betas or senior year or university or when I started working under Deaton as a qualified vet or when I got engaged to Lydia. I wished I could have shared all of it with you.”

“I missed you too,” Stiles responds, too choked up to really say anything more than that, and he’s trying to blink back tears and, fuck it, Scott drags him into a tight hug.

Because, yeah, maybe he’s angry about it somewhere and he’s still hurt about the way Stiles left and it doesn’t go away with one conversation but, goddammit, it’s Stiles and he loves him and it’s a _start_. Their friendship is broken but not beyond repair and Scott knows that if he wants to work for it, Stiles will too.

Scott won’t necessarily admit to crying but he knows he’s not the only one and he holds Stiles all the tighter because of it. As hard as it had been to deal with his leaving, he’s also not gonna pretend he doesn’t want this.

Stiles had been his best friend, his brother, and had saved his life more times than he can count and he’ll never forget that, no matter how bad it gets.

Stiles sniffles slightly against his shoulder and they finally pull apart. He scrubs at his eyes with a watery chuckle.

“Dude, you got engaged to Lydia? Congrats, man,” he grins at Scott. “When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t set a date yet,” Scott responds. “Lydia’s been planning it for a year and it just keeps getting more extravagant. But as soon as I know, you’ll be the second person I’ll tell. I’m sure Lydia can arrange seating for you.”

“You’d invite me?” Stiles asks hesitantly.

“If you wanna come,” Scott nods. “If you hadn’t, um, I would have…” he hesitates for a second. “Derek’s gonna be my best man but I would have asked you once, y’know.”

“Forget about me, Derek deserves to be your best man; god knows he’s earned it after all these years. I’ll be happy just to attend.”

They fall into a soft silence. Scott takes the time to flip through the first few postcards, reading the messages on the back. The first few are full of text, Stiles rambling across the card and running out of room. Most of the messages are apologies and attempts at explanations as to why he left and other thoughts.

“Um, listen,” Stiles clears his throat, watching him anxiously. “I know you want answers. I mean, better answers than the ones I gave you yesterday. And I want to tell you, and answer all your questions, but there are things I’m not ready to talk about yet. And it’s nothing personal, there’s just a lot to be said and it’s long and complicated and it’s…”

“I do want answers,” Scott says when he trails off. “But I don’t need them right now if you’re not ready. Just promise that you’ll tell me.”

“I will,” Stiles nods firmly. “I swear. And I’ll tell you everything I can. There are things I want to share with you too, things I never wrote about. You deserve to know. I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”

His heart is steady and even if he couldn’t hear it, Scott would still believe him. He recognizes that conviction in his voice and that’s all he needs right now. To know that Stiles won’t lie to him, about this or anything else.

“So, do you wanna stay for lunch?” Stiles offers. “I have this recipe for pierogi that I’d like to try out on someone other than myself. It’s kind of like a Polish dumpling. I can regale you with more tales from my travels too. Like you should see some of the pictures I took when I was in Norway. Dude, it’s like straight out of a fairytale up there.”

“I’d like that,” Scott says warmly, clutching the postcards in his hands. “You know, about your apartment, maybe you could talk to Derek? He still owns the loft, maybe he has a place you can use while you stay here.”

“You think he’d let me?” Stiles chews on his lip.

“I think it’s worth a try. And I could talk to him for you. He wasn’t exactly excited to hear that you were back but that’s just because he was worried about me.”

“And that’s why he deserves to be your best man,” Stiles responds promptly but Scott can see the uncertainty in his eyes. “If it’s gonna be a problem, I can just stay here. Or find a place on my own, it’s not a big deal. I don’t wanna come between you guys.”

“You won’t,” Scott assures. “Derek just looks out for me. But he trusts me.”

Stiles manages not to react to that. He doesn’t have any right to be upset or jealous of their friendship; he gave up those rights when he left Scott twelve years ago.

“Well, let’s worry about that later,” he says instead. “My Dad’s in no hurry to kick me out so I still got time to find a place. But I promised you photos and stories and lunch and we can’t do any of that if we just stand around here.”

Scott smiles, feeling remarkably more relaxed than he had when he’d woken up this morning. There’s still a lot to work through, and he’ll probably want to talk to Lydia and Derek about this later, but right now he has a few hundred postcards to read through.

It’s not all better yet but it’s a start.

*

“Hey, I brought lunch.”

Ethan pokes his head out from under the hood of the car to see his boyfriend standing there with a bag of food from the grocery stare.

“I wasn’t expecting you until later,” he says, wiping his oily hands on a rag of material.

“I decided to surprise you,” Danny shrugs, holding out a wrapped sandwich. “I’m not doing much else this afternoon. Lacrosse practice was cancelled, some kind of bug going through the team. Luckily they don’t have any games coming up for another few weeks.”

Ethan snorts. “I’m sure they can afford to miss one practice. With you as their coach, they’re probably more prepared than you ever were back then.”

Danny chuckles. “I hope so. They do have a legacy to live up to, after all.”

Ethan glances around then gestures for Danny to follow him out of the garage. There’s a small park with a bench just down the road they can sit in for their lunch.

“This doesn’t count as a date, by the way,” Danny points out. “I’m still expecting you to take me out tomorrow night.”

“Don’t worry,” Ethan assures, “I’m still planning on taking you out. Made some nice reservations, it’d cost too much to back out now.”

Danny smiles, unwrapping his own sandwich. Ethan gets a distant look on his face, like he’s thinking too hard.

“What’s going on with you?” Danny nudges him.

“What d’you mean?” Ethan glances down at his food instead of at his boyfriend.

“Something’s been bothering you for days now,” Danny responds. “I wasn’t gonna ask but it’s clearly affecting you. Is it about the sacrifices?”

“Aiden thinks Jennifer’s the Darach.”

Danny has mostly been filled in in their adventures during Scott’s first year as a werewolf. He knows about Derek and Allison’s families, about Jackson being the Kanima, and about the Alpha Pack and the Darach’s sacrifices. There are a few things he doesn’t know, though, and Ethan thinks the circumstances around Stiles’ leaving is one of them.

Mostly because it had always been a touchy topic so no one really brought it up anymore.

“Okay?” Danny gazes questioningly at him, clearly looking for more context.

“He has this theory that Jennifer is the Darach, and that she’s the one doing the sacrifices again because she was the one who did them last time. We heard Deucalion and Kali arguing in the hospital the night Mrs McCall got taken. Apparently, Kali used to have a pack emissary called Julia that she was supposed to kill when she joined the Alpha Pack. But they don’t think she did, they think she became the Darach.”

“Why would they think _.Jennifer_ was the Druid?” Danny frowns. “She wasn’t exactly involved in things back then, was she?”

“No, but apparently she looks like her. I don’t know, this is Aiden’s theory, not mine.”

“Well, what do _you_ think?”

“I think, after twelve years, we would have figured out if she was the Darach. She’s a part of the pack, Derek’s _dating_ her, there’s no way we wouldn’t know.”

“Then why are you worried about it?”

“Because the last time someone accused Jennifer of being the Darach, he ended up leaving Beacon Hills because of it.”

“You mean Stiles?” Danny’s eyes go wide. “Is that really why he left?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I just know that he never trusted Jennifer and even when it was all over, he still thought she was the Darach and then he left, like, a week later.”

Danny leans back, an understanding in his face. “And you’re worried you’ll be forced to leave as well, right?”

Ethan nods. “Aiden and I worked hard to earn everyone’s trust after what we did. Especially after Boyd.” He winces at the name. “I don’t want to have them turn on us because Aiden won’t let it go.”

“Have you ever actually told Scott what you heard in the hospital that night? I mean, if Stiles and Aiden and even, uh, Deucalion and Kali believed Jennifer was the Darach, surely that means it’s more than just a hunch?”

“Well, we thought about it. But Derek gets really defensive if we bring it up. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but he really doesn’t like the possibility.”

“You really think they’d kick you out the pack?”

“Well, I think Derek would try to kick Aiden. And where he goes, I go.” There’s a conviction in his voice that Danny doesn’t dare argue with.

“Well,” he reaches to squeeze Ethan’s hand, “I’m with you, no matter what happens. So if Aiden gets kicked out, I’m coming with you.”

Ethan draws him into a soft kiss. Once upon a time, he might have thought he didn’t deserve someone like Danny in his life. But Danny had somehow wormed his way under all his defences; Ethan will kill for a lot of people but Danny is one of the few he’d die for.

Danny grins at him and then nudges his sandwich. “Come on, your lunch break ends soon and what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you go back to work hungry?”

“The best kind,” Ethan responds warmly, like Danny can do no wrong; and honestly, to him, he probably can’t.

Danny just laughs and shakes his head.

*

The Preserve is quiet. It’s not usually a bad thing, except it’s _too_ quiet. There’s no sign of any birdsong or chirping insects or bees buzzing around the flowers. Even the wind is silent through the trees; and it’s incredibly unsettling.

“Can you hear that?” Derek asks, straining his ears for any sound other than the gushing water of a nearby stream.

“No,” Cora snorts. “I’m not a werewolf anymore, remember?”

Derek sends her a flat look. “You don’t need to be a werewolf to hear the silence.”

“What about it?” Cora shoves a branch out of her face. “It’s peaceful.”

“No, it’s not. It’s too quiet to be peaceful.”

“You’ve lost me,” Cora squints at her brother. “Aren’t you always complaining about the noise and now you’re complaining about the quiet?”

“_Listen_,” Derek stresses. “There’s nothing. Not even the wind.”

They fall silent again, Cora tilting her head to listen to the woods.

“Yeah, that is weird,” she agrees after a minute or two. “How often does that happen?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Why are we out here again?”

“Lydia said one of her wards triggered,” Derek explains patiently. “On the eastern side of the Preserve, where you hit the border of Beacon Hills.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you brought me,” Cora responds sullenly. “You have six perfectly capable betas to choose from and one whole Alpha as well.”

“They don’t know the woods as well as we do. We grew up in these trees, remember? Plus, even if you’re not a werewolf, doesn’t mean you can’t help out with this stuff.”

“What if I got a doctor’s note from Deaton?” she asks and Derek rolls his eyes.

“This is one of the hiking trails Scott wanted me to check for yew trees,” he says after a moment. “I thought you’d be the best one to help me with that, since this is still Hale land.”

“So are we looking for yew trees or the broken ward?”

“Both,” Derek shrugs, setting off further into the woods. “We’re not that far from the border.”

“Why are we checking the ward? If something crossed the boundary, surely we should be looking for _that_ instead?”

“Lydia said sometimes animals can trigger it if they get too close.”

“Well, how do we tell the difference?” Cora wonders if she should know this stuff, but they haven’t really had a territory breach in a few years now. Not one that affected the wards, at least, or maybe she just hadn’t been invited.

“Lydia said if it’s a genuine breach, the ward will be glowing.”

They head further into the woods. Derek had been right, Cora does know these trees. They had basically grown up in them, when she had been younger. She hasn’t been in here in a long time – the lack of wolf makes for a lack of running – but it’s familiar enough that she knows exactly where she’s going. She knows this trail.

“There,” Derek says from in front of her. “That’s the tree.”

“Where’s the ward?” Cora asks as they reach the trunk. Derek doesn’t need to answer: when they round the tree, a ward sits carved into the bark; and it’s glowing blue. “Ah, shit.”

“So something passed through here about an hour ago?” Derek glances around to see if he can spot any signs of movement through the trees.

“Did Lydia say if she could tell what it was from the breach?”

Derek shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He sniffs the air, trying to pick apart the scents to find out which one is recent. There’s an underlying foul smell trailing around the tree. “Whatever it is, doesn’t smell good.”

“Any idea what?”

“Something dead,” Derek cringes as the smell of death hits his nose.

“I mean, any chance this scent is sacrifice-related and not the scent of something in the woods?”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s too fresh. The sacrifices are pretty scheduled and we’re not due another until tomorrow night.”

“It’s not like they haven’t broken pattern before,” Cora points out but she concedes the point: she trusts Derek and if he says it isn’t a sacrificial scent, then it isn’t a sacrificial scent. “Can you follow it?”

Derek nods and sets off into the trees. Cora appreciates that he doesn’t set a pace she can’t keep up with in her frail human body; then curses the fact that he has to set a pace slower than usual _because_ of her frail human body.

“What’s our plan if we run into this thing?” she asks suddenly. “I mean, we don’t even know what it is yet and we’re gonna march right up to it. You might be an Alpha but you’re still only one werewolf, and I’m no use in a fight.”

“Let’s just see if we can figure out what it is first,” Derek responds, purposefully not answering her actual question.

The scent of death is all over the place. Either this thing is very drunk and can’t walk straight or there might be more than one. Derek frowns. The scent is also leading in a dozen different directions, and might even be circling around them. He can’t track it properly, not with only Cora at his back.

“We should head back,” he casts a concerned eye at the darkening sky. Night time would be the perfect time for an ambush, when only he can see and hear them coming. “The trail’s fresh, it should be easy to pick up tomorrow. When we can get Scott and the rest of the pack to help.”

“If you say so,” Cora responds and she shivers in the cooling air. Damn this body.

“Here,” Derek holds out his jacket.

“I’m fine,” she says dismissively.

“You don’t have to be around me,” he says. “At least until we get back to town?”

Cora scowls but gives in and drags his jacket around her shoulders. She hates this. This whole human existence. Being cold and not being able to help track scents and being absolutely useless back-up and slow healing and all of it. She hates it.

“You okay?” Derek asks unusually gentle and he can probably sense her turmoil in the air. Yet another thing she hates.

“Fine,” she responds shortly. There’s a pause, where they’re just walking, and then she adds, “If I cut myself, I wouldn’t heal.”

Derek chooses his words carefully. “Is that something you’ve tested?”

“I mean, when I first lost my wolf, I tested my limitations. But I probably tested my ability to heal more than anything else. I thought about,” her breath hitches in the cool air, “I thought about how to hurt myself bad enough that I’d never heal again.”

“Did you ever try?”

“I…” she isn’t sure how to answer that.

“I did,” Derek admits softly. “After… After I moved to New York with Laura. I tried to make the pain stop for good. But werewolves always heal. I thought about trying wolfsbane but I could never bring myself to go that far.”

Cora swallows hard. “I did once. In the first year. I was having a hard time adjusting. I tried but it hurt a lot more than I thought it would and I didn’t get very far. Lydia found me and patched me up and I swore her to silence. She told me I should go to therapy.”

“Did you?”

“No. I… I thought it’d be too hard to find someone who knew about us that I’d be able to talk to. But I was also really scared. So I just bottled it up.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently for her to continue.

“Um, recently,” and her voice cracks a little, “I’ve been having a hard time keeping those feelings locked up. I can’t… I can’t help you anymore. I can’t track scents or hear how quiet the Preserve is or fight alongside you anymore. All I can do is read books and that’s not gonna do anything. Not really. I’m useless.”

Her voice breaks again but she holds it together until Derek’s arms wrap around her and pull her into a tight hug. She crumbles in his embrace, burying her face in his shoulder to hide her tears. She’s never felt more like a little kid than she has in this moment; on the flipside, Derek’s never felt more like her big brother.

They stand in the middle of the woods for a few more minutes until Cora has her emotions under control, pulling away from Derek to wipe her eyes.

“When I was in New York,” he finally says, “I saw a therapist. Some of the wolf packs up there had people like that. Maybe I could get in contact with them, see if they know anyone closer to home?”

“That’d probably be a good idea,” she admits, somewhat shakily. “Um, also, do you mind not telling anyone about this? I feel bad enough already about not having my abilities, I don’t really need people pitying me either.”

Derek pulls her in for another hug. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he promises, and Cora wholeheartedly believes him.

*

Isaac blinks awake in the middle of the night to find the other side of the bed empty. He panics suddenly, bolting up, but then the sound of movement in the kitchen reaches his ears and he slumps back down onto his pillow.

A second later, he shoves his sheets back and stumbles through to the kitchen to find his girlfriend rummaging through the cupboards.

“Everything all right?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yeah,” Allison smiles over her shoulder, “I just needed the toilet.”

“This doesn’t look like the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “I got hungry so I thought I’d get a snack. But we don’t have any peanut butter.”

“You wanted peanut butter?” he squints at her, confused.

“I mean, I would, if we had any peppers, but I guess I forgot to pick some up.”

“Peppers?” he echoes.

“For the peanut butter,” she clarifies, like it’s obvious. “Preferably bell peppers. Raw ones, you know, they’ll have a good crunch.”

“Peanut butter and peppers,” Isaac blinks slowly.

“Yeah,” Allison bounces on her feet. “It sounds delicious, right? I have no idea why I suddenly thought of the combination but I bet it’s awesome.”

She is way too chipper for half-one in the morning.

“Allison.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Allison blinks a couple of times and glances around the darkened kitchen. “Oh, right.”

“It’s the middle of the night and you want to eat raw peppers dipped in peanut butter,” Isaac tries but he can’t keep a straight face, throwing his head back with a loud laugh. “That’s the greatest thing I ever heard.”

Allison’s returning smile through the darkness is beautiful and he doesn’t even try to resist the urge to sweep her into his arms and spin her. Her laugh echoes around the room with his and it’s the best sound in the world.

Isaac drops her promptly on the kitchen floor and moves to grab the car keys.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“I’m going to get you your peanut butter and peppers,” he responds. He doesn’t stop to grab a pair of shoes or a jacket; he’s a werewolf, his sleepwear will be enough for a trip to the local 24-hour grocery.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Allison tries to argue. “You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I can survive until morning.”

“The point is you don’t need to,” he tells her firmly. “It’s a quick trip, I’ll be back before you know it. And hey, maybe I’ll try some with you.”

He turns to his girlfriend, only to be surprised when she pulls him into a fierce kiss, gripping his top like he might vanish if she lets go.

“I love you,” she tells him between kisses.

“I love you too,” he pulls her close and breathes in her deep, powerful scent; the scent he’d follow across the world. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay.”

She smiles and nods, watching him head out the door.

She feels warmth flooding her bones: he’s away to get her peppers and peanut butter, just because she woke up in the middle of the night craving it.

She’s gonna marry him one day.

*

**April 17th.**

It’s late in the afternoon when the doorbell goes. Noah isn’t expecting anyone at this time and while Stiles had told him about his conversations with Scott, he hadn’t mentioned if he’d be returning to talk some more.

It’s not entirely a surprise to find Derek on his stoop, given that it’s not the first time he’s ever turned up here, but he doesn’t remember hearing from him beforehand.

“Sheriff,” he greets, as formal as ever. “I know it’s a bit late in the day, but I was hoping to talk to Stiles.”

“Uh, sure,” Noah turns to find Stiles already at the bottom of the stairs. “Derek’s here for you.”

“Why?” Stiles squints, as he switches place with his Dad. “Uh, hey, Derek, what’s up?”

“Scott told me you were looking for a place to stay?”

“You’re not staying here?” Noah asks from over his shoulder, sounding some mixture of scandalized and confused.

“He did?” Stiles murmurs uncertainly. “I mean, yeah, I mentioned it but I didn’t…” He trails off then flushes a little. “Sorry, you should come in,” he opens the door to let Derek through. “Um, you want a coffee or something while you’re here?”

Derek glances at him in surprise but nods the affirmative. Stiles disappears through to the kitchen, while Noah follows Derek through to the lounge.

“Scott said there might be something in the woods?” he asks.

Derek glances towards the kitchen to affirm Stiles can’t hear. “Yeah, one of Lydia’s wards triggered yesterday. I checked it out last night but didn’t get a clear lead. I think he took some of the pack to have a look around.”

Noah nods thoughtfully as Stiles comes through with two mugs of coffee. He hands one to Derek and the other to his Dad. He doesn’t have anything to drink himself, Derek notes, before wondering why _that’s_ important.

“So I may have mentioned to Scott yesterday that I might look for an apartment to rent while I’m back in Beacon Hills,” he sits down on the sofa. “Scott suggested that, since you still own the loft, you might be willing to give me a place. I said there was no need, but he, um, he insisted on it.”

“You don’t want to stay here?” Noah asks, not exactly hurt but perhaps a bit disgruntled.

“No offense, Dad, but I’m a bit old to be staying with my parents,” Stiles chuckles. “Plus, I’m not exactly the kind of house guest you want.”

There’s some kind of underlying meaning to that that Noah seems to understand but Derek frowns faintly at.

“I might have a place,” he admits after a moment. “It’s not big and it’s mostly unfurnished but it’s cheap and you can move in tomorrow if you want.”

“How unfurnished are we talking?”

“It’s got all the necessary appliances and a working bathroom but nothing else. You’d need to find a bed from somewhere; and anything else you wanna add.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a bed going spare, would you?” Stiles forces a chuckle and it’s the first sign of discomfort he’s shown. Derek studies him a little closer, and notices the way he’s fiddling with the cuff of his sweater, the way his foot is tapping restlessly on the floor, the way his gaze darts about, only landing on Derek for a few seconds at a time.

He’s nervous of him, Derek realizes. Because of Scott? Or because of Jennifer?

“I might,” he responds slowly. “Don’t know what condition it’s in.”

“If I can sleep in it, I’ll take it.”

“Stiles,” Noah cuts in, “you’ll need a proper bed.”

“You said I needed a safe place to sleep. You said nothing about the conditions in which that safe place needed to be. A cramped apartment with a shitty, second-hand bed is fine for what I need.”

“How long are you staying?” Derek asks.

“Um, I’m not sure,” Stiles bits down on his lip. “I… I haven’t decided.”

“So you might still leave again?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs listlessly. “I’d like to stay but I’d need a really good reason.”

“Because your Dad and Scott aren’t enough?” bitterness leaks into his tone. He thinks it’s on behalf of the people in question.

Stiles finally fixes him with a sharp gaze. “My Dad is happy as long as I am. And Scott doesn’t need me anymore. He has you and Lydia and what I’m sure is a great pack. It’s not… It’s not the reason I’m looking for.”

“Well, I hope you’ll at least say goodbye this time. It’s the least Scott deserves.”

“I know,” Stiles says simply. “And if I leave, I will.”

“So do you want the apartment or not?”

Stiles takes a second to adjust to the rapid switch of topics. “I’ll take it if that’s okay. Thanks, um, for letting me rent it.”

“I didn’t do it for you, I did it for Scott,” he says sharply.

“I know.”

It’s like he’s trying to bait Stiles into an argument when he continues with, “Personally I don’t think he should trust you this time. You’ve already proven how easy it is for you to drop him like he’s nothing. But you’ve always been a weak spot for him.”

It’s _infuriating_ the way Stiles just sits there, accepting his words. Like he knows that he deserves them. Derek can’t contain himself, the way his anger surges through his veins. He wants Stiles to engage with him, he _wants_ a reason to be as angry as he feels right now, but Stiles just isn’t giving in.

“It won’t be long until Scott realizes it too, when you inevitably let him down again and just abandon him without a second thought. And I’ll be the one to pick up all those pieces when you’ve finished taking advantage of him all over again.”

“Derek,” Noah interrupts his rant with the kind of stern, Dad voice that can make anyone feel reprimanded at just the sound of it.

Derek blinks suddenly, feeling like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over his head. The anger suddenly feels foreign on his tongue, like it doesn’t belong to him, and he’s not sure where it came from. His words aren’t exactly untrue, but they’re a lot harsher than he ever would have intended.

Stiles is looking at him carefully. There’s something in his expression that looks like hurt but more than that, he looks worried.

“You don’t need to rent that apartment to me,” he says softly. “I don’t want to force you to deal with me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I…” he fumbles with his words. “I didn’t mean to be that harsh, I’m just worried about Scott. He didn’t react well when you left.”

“I know,” Stiles repeats and there’s a forlorn note in his voice. “I screwed up badly and I will do my best to make amends. No matter what it takes. If you don’t want me living in your building, that’s fine. I can find somewhere else.”

Derek takes a moment to think it through. “It’s fine, you can stay. When will you move in?”

“As soon as I get a bed, I guess.”

“I do have a spare,” Derek says. “I can set it up for you.”

“No need, I can deal with that myself. I, um, don’t want to force you into something that will make you uncomfortable.”

“Building a bed won’t make me uncomfortable, Stiles.”

“Building it for me when you don’t trust me not to hurt Scott again might,” Stiles points out. “You’re clearly angry at me. I don’t blame you. But you don’t have to pretend otherwise or help me out just because I asked, when you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Derek hesitates. Something about that stirs his mind. There’s… _something_ that makes his neck prickle. Stiles is fine with his anger, fine with Derek expressing it at him. Why does that shake his core so much?

Before he can think too much on it, his phone goes off. He pulls it out to see a text from Scott.

“I should get going,” he says quickly. “Scott needs my help.”

“Is everything okay?” Stiles asks and Derek feels the foreign anger rise again.

“Fine,” he responds shortly. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Stiles points out, while Noah sighs across the room that “you might as well just tell him, Derek.”

“There’s something in the woods,” he says tightly, fighting against every word.

“Something bad?” Stiles seems to garner an answer from his lack of one. “I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not,” Derek argues immediately. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Either you take me in your Camaro or I follow you in my eyesore of a food van but you can’t keep me here.”

“Fine,” Derek grits out. “If you must. You’ll be staying on the side lines though, let my pack take care of this.”

“Sure,” Stiles readily agrees but even though his heart is steady, Derek knows he’s not gonna do anything he’s told.

“Derek,” Noah catches his attention once more. “What is it?”

Derek glances down at his phone and frowns. “Ghouls.”

*

“So do you kills ghouls or what?”

Derek glances at Stiles as they trek through the woods to Scott’s location. What kind of question is that? “If we can’t reason with them, then yes.”

“Oh. How often have you managed to reason with them?”

Derek presses his lips together. “If we manage it today, then this will be our first time.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Stiles responds, tugging on the cuffs of his hoodie. Derek can’t help but spot the black tendrils of a tattoo peeking out, before he wonders why he’s looking at Stiles’ wrists, instead of where he’s going.

“You’ll stay on the side lines,” he repeats.

“Sure,” Stiles nods affably.

“I mean it,” he warns. “This is the pack’s territory, which means it’s the pack’s business. I don’t even know why I brought you along.”

“Because this way you can keep an eye on me,” Stiles interjects quickly.

“But we know how to handle this. The last thing we need is to worry about protecting you in the middle of the fight because you don’t know how to take down a ghoul.”

Stiles looks at him, like he’s going to say something, but seems to change his mind. He just smiles serenely instead. “Like I said, sure.”

Derek is about to challenge him again when a yelp of pain cuts through their conversation. He barely registers that it’s Isaac, before he’s sprinting through the trees towards the sound of fighting and his pack roaring.

He forgets to check on Stiles until he skids into the clearing, and Stiles almost collides with his back, catching himself at the last moment, muttering a faint curse as he almost trips on a tree root instead.

“Derek,” the relief is palpable on Scott’s face as he catches sight of his co-Alpha.

Derek shifts in response, and leaps towards where Isaac is battling a ghoul with a slow-healing bite wound on his shoulder.

“Oh, I forgot how much I hated ghouls,” Stiles grumbles, surveying the fight.

“_Stiles?_” Scott stumbles in his fight, allowing a ghoul to catch his side with its long claws. He hisses in pain and slices it across the cheek in return.

“How do we kill them?” a werewolf Stiles doesn’t recognize is fighting against one of the ghouls with Allison.

“Behead them!” Derek roars across the clearing.

Stiles does a quick headcount. Eight werewolves fighting five ghouls; Scott’s fighting on his own, while the others are split into pairs to make it more even. Ghouls are nasty, long claws and sharp teeth. They’re also fast and strong and hard to kill, even by werewolf standards.

From the looks of Isaac’s injury, wounds gained from ghouls apparently take longer to heal. Which Stiles already knows, but he’s never seen it in action on a werewolf before. Probably something to do with the fact that ghouls are in some state of permanent decay; that’s why they smell like death.

“_Stiles, look out!_” Scott roars, jerking him out of his thoughts. He turns just in time to see a sixth ghoul leap at him from the trees.

He only barely grabs his knife before the wind is knocked out of him by the hard ground under him. The ghoul pounces on him and he throws his arm up to block its mouth before it sinks its teeth into his neck. The ghouls snaps its jaw at him but Stiles is stronger than he looks, holding it back.

“Oh, I _hate_ ghouls,” he groans, twisting his knife in his hand for a good grip on the handle; bringing it up, he slashes violently across the ghoul’s neck, slicing the skin open. In the same momentum, he throws the ghoul off of him, narrowly avoiding the dark, thick blood that oozes sluggishly out of the wound.

“That’s just gross,” he gags on the smell, as he clambers to his feet. The ghoul isn’t dead yet, though, and it’s readying itself for another attack when Derek slams into it, howling in pain as it sinks its teeth into his side and rips a chunk of flesh out.

“Derek!” Stiles cries, stumbling after them, drawing his knife again.

“_Allison!_” Isaac screams from his left, and the swell of panic in his voice forces Stiles to search out the huntress.

In the middle of her fight with a ghoul, she had dodged a swipe of claws, only to trip and tumble to the ground. The werewolf with the blonde pixie cut had jumped between them, but now both of them were vulnerable to a seventh ghoul, sprinting out of the trees.

Stiles takes a second to acknowledge that there are _seven_ ghouls, before he throws his knife at the newest one. It’s not a throwing knife but in Stiles’ hands, it doesn’t have to be. One hand in the air helps direct the knife as it slices into the skull of the ghoul and sends it toppling back to the ground.

Allison glances towards him, confusion scrawled across her features, but it’s only for a moment, as she jumps up to finish the kill.

Around the rest of the clearing, the ghouls are falling one by one. Isaac jumps in to help Scott behead his, the twins are covered in blood from their tussle. There are two more ‘wolves that Stiles doesn’t recognize tussling with the last ghoul on the far side of the trees. The pixie-cut werewolf throws her ghoul to the ground and Allison helps her rip its head off.

Derek roars again, and Stiles directs his attention back to the scuffle in front of him. In the few seconds he’d looked away, the ghoul had clawed down his arm, leaving four gaping cuts.

“Derek!” Scott breaks out into a sprint to help his co-Alpha but Stiles is faster. He grabs the ghoul by the scruff of its neck and hauls it to the ground. The ghoul snarls and claws at him but it can’t break through the material of his hoodie.

Derek scrambles away as the ghoul refocuses on Stiles but he reacts faster. Grabbing the remnants of its torn shirt, he holds it at arm’s length and presses his other hand to its forehead. The ghoul starts to shriek under his hold, clawing to get free, as Stiles pours all his energy into killing it.

Scott stops a few feet short as he registers Stiles’ eyes glowing _silver_.

The ghoul’s shrieks get louder and more tortured; its skin starts to bubble, the pungent stink of cooking flesh flooding the clearing, causing each wolf and even Allison to cower back.

Stiles’ arms begin to shake with the effort, his eyes glowing ever brighter, the ghoul’s movements growing sluggish and then stiff, as it literally burns to a crisp. Stiles doesn’t let go until the humanoid figure bursts into flames with an unearthly shriek. Everyone in the clearing jumps back as the ghoul burns up in the flames and disintegrates into ash.

Scott gapes at him: did he just _cook_ a ghoul alive from the inside out _with his hands_!?

Stiles blinks the glow from his eyes, finally becoming aware of the pack scattered around him with varying expression of stunned confusion and distrust.

Derek struggles to his feet. He touches Stiles’ shoulder gently as the younger man sways on his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” Stiles echoes. “You had a chunk taken out of your side, are _you_?”

“It’ll heal,” Derek fingers the edges of the wound.

“Slowly,” Stiles points out as Scott steps forward to look at Derek’s injuries.

A tense silence descends over the group, until…

“What the fuck was _that!?_” blonde pixie cut screeches, apparently unable to hold it back anymore. “You turned that ghoul to ash! _With your hands!_”

“It’s a tried and tested method,” Stiles defends, lifting his hands in a surrender.

“Okay, who _are_ you?”

Scott steps forward, clearing his throat, and Stiles notes how _everyone_ stands to attention.

“Sammi, this is Stiles. Stiles, that’s Sammi, Felix and David,” he points at each werewolf. Felix gives him a shy half-smile and David shrugs loosely. He turns back to Stiles. “I’d really like to know how you did that too.”

There’s a steely edge to his voice that Stiles winces at. “Um, well, remember when I told you there were things I wasn’t ready to talk about? Well, looks like I’m ready to talk about them.”

He sways on his feet again, blinking away a wave of dizziness. Scott notes how he suddenly looks exhausted.

“Aw, shit, I should not have done that on an empty stomach,” he groans. “Maybe I can tell you about those things later? Or maybe tomorrow? I kind of tired myself out.”

“You tired yourself out?” Isaac echoes absently.

“Yeah, do you have any idea how hot that fire was?” Stiles snarks grumpily. “You try cremating a guy from the inside out and not falling over afterwards, I’d really like to see it.”

There’s another tense silence, until he wobbles on his feet and stumbles to the side. He would have hit the ground if Derek hadn’t stepped up to catch him. Scott touches his shoulder gently.

“You’ll tell us, right?” he asks uncertainly.

“Promise,” Stiles mumbles, fighting to keep his eyes open. That fire took more out of him that he’d thought it would. “Just let me sleep first.”

“I’ll take him back,” Derek offers, surprising himself and Scott. “I brought him here after all.”

“Oh, wait, my knife,” Stiles looks alert again for a few more minutes as he gestures towards the ghoul he’d stabbed in the head. As the ‘wolves watch, the knife disappears from the ghoul’s head and materializes in his hand, where he catches it easily, like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Derek wonders if he has.

The blade is covered in the foul blood of a ghoul and even pieces of brain matter, until Stiles scrapes the finger along the butt of the handle. The whole knife glows pale blue for a second and the bodily fluids vanish, returning the blade to its previously clean condition.

The entire pack watches in some variation of awe, until Stiles slumps against Derek again, the exhaustion taking over. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but Derek ignores it and nudges him in the direction of the trees.

It’s not until he’s guiding Stiles back to his car that he realizes he’s still shifted. He attempts to retract his claws and teeth but for some reason, his wolf fights it. It fights against his human side, and Derek has to take a second to force it down. The last thing he wants is to bother Jennifer by coming home still shifted.

“Everything all right?” Stiles glances at him, his eyelids dropping with tiredness. Even exhausted, there’s still a sharpness about him.

That’s when it hits Derek: he can’t smell Stiles. He’s not scentless, it’s drifting through the trees around him but it’s normal, it’s unchanged. There’s no sign of the exhaustion or the lingering tang of adrenaline or anything. It’s just his basic scent and Derek realizes how unnerving it is. To smell someone but not really be able to scent them.

It reminds him of when he had been human and didn’t have his heightened sense of smell. Except now it feels more obvious.

“Fine,” he says shortly, when he realizes Stiles is waiting for an answer.

“If you say so,” Stiles responds, lighting up a little as he spots the Camaro. “Thanks for taking me back. I know you don’t want to, but I appreciate it.”

“Whatever,” Derek grunts. “I did it for Scott.”

“I know,” Stiles mumbles and there’s a forlorn note in his voice again. He doesn’t say anything else, just makes for the car to climb inside.

Derek glances at him again and scents him once more but still can’t smell anything more than his general odour. It’s still unnerving.

“Don’t fall asleep in my car,” he warns as he climbs into the driver’s side.

“No promises,” Stiles has his eyes closed as he leans back in the seat. “It’s a nice car.”

“I know,” Derek mutters, reversing back out onto the road. He winces slightly as his side throbs with pain. It’ll be at least a day before these wounds heal, he knows; ghouls are annoying to deal with.

“You sure you’re okay?” Stiles cracks an eye open to look at him.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“I mean, yeah, but ghoul wounds are nasty. And gross. You’re lucky you can’t get infected by their bites.”

“Ghouls are infectious?” he asks, begrudgingly curious.

“It’s not like they clean their teeth between meals, dude.”

Derek thinks on that as he drives. Stiles sounds like he has personal experience with ghouls and their bites. And from the way he fought without hesitation today, maybe he does. Has Stiles been bitten by one? Had he caught some kind of infection?

He opens mouth to ask more but when he glances across to see Stiles dozing lightly in his seat, he changes his mind and just stays silent.

He can ask those questions later, when Stiles is more awake and willing to answer them.

He’ll just focus on driving him home; if only so he can get back to Jennifer quicker and hopefully get her help in tending to his wounds.

His wolf howls mournfully in his chest.

*

“Mera, my love,” Alix pokes her head through the door to their ritual room, “sorry to interrupt but I wanted to ask if you were the one to summon the ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” Mera echoes distastefully, looking up from her grimoire. “Those creatures are nothing but mindless stomachs. I would never summon them. Too much risk they’d harm the one we need. Why?”

“A group of them just attacked our wolves,” Alix moves to sit next to her.

“Perhaps they were drawn by the sacrifices,” Mera muses thoughtfully. “After all, death is where ghouls thrive.”

“Perhaps. I just wanted to check.” She peers over her lover’s shoulder to read the book in her lap. “Is this the binding spell?”

Mera nods. “It is the most powerful one I can find. It should be enough for what we need it for. We just need to get some of the ingredients.”

“Hmm. Can we even get all of them? The wings of a crystal butterfly: that is not something you can catch in your garden.”

“Do not worry, my dear, I have a plan. Have you heard back from Felipe yet?”

Alix brightens visibly. “Ah, yes, he says Jerome is quite pleased to come and help us out. He bears a grudge and he is willing to use that on our behalf.”

“Wonderful,” Mera closes the grimoire and draws Alix into a sweet kiss. “It is all coming together, my love. Our day will come.”

“Well,” Alix smiles mischievously, “perhaps, until it does, there is something else that can come instead.”

Mera giggles, allowing her lover to pull her to her feet. “Mm, what a naughty thought. But perhaps we are due some celebration.”

“There are still a few hours before midnight,” Alix runs her fingers through Mera’s golden locks. “I am sure we can think of many ways to have fun before then.”

With another kiss, she leads Mera towards their bedroom.

It is a good day today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott might not admit it but I will: I cried a little when I was writing this chapter.
> 
> The hardest thing about this whole thing was figuring out how to reveal Stiles' magic, honestly. I stalled out writing in the middle for, like, a day until I could come up with a scenario where the pack finds out about it. But now I can start delving into what he's capable of and what he knows and stuff like that.
> 
> I know I promised y'all flashbacks but I haven't found a point to start inserting those. Maybe next chapter.
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING:** During the scene with Derek and Cora in the woods, they share their experiences with self harm and suicidal thoughts. There is no graphic detail, just heavily implied content. I have only tagged the fic with **SELF-HARM**, let me know if I should add a tag warning for the **SUICIDAL THOUGHTS**.


	4. sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> power is relative:
> 
> Stiles answers questions from the pack. Derek and Stiles navigate their tense relationship. Isaac struggles to deal with the sacrifices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay of this chapter. November kicked my butt really badly and the end of the year was p hit and miss and this chapter ended up deviating from my original plan and it was a hassle and a half to get it back on track and a dozen other excuses as to why it took me months to post this. Things are low-key back on track now but no promises rn about the next chapter, it's still a bit rough over here.

**August;  
12 years ago.**

****

_“Ah, good, you’re awake.”_

****

_Stiles is too tired to be properly startled by the deep voice that sounds from behind him. He turns to face the source, sitting at a table in the corner of the kitchen._

****

_“How are you settling in?” Jonusz asks in a lilting voice, sipping steaming liquid from his mug. Stiles would assume it’s tea but Jonusz drinks weird things._

****

_“Um, pretty good,” he answers with a half-smile. “I’m still, um, adjusting to the time zone but the bed’s comfy so.”_

****

_“I am glad to learn that,” Jonusz smiles broadly at him and gestures to the small dining table; Stiles finally notices the rack of toast and row of cereal on one side. “Will you join me for breakfast? Anita will be down shortly.”_

****

_“Um, sure,” Stiles stumbles into a seat across from the man, reaching for a piece of toast. Jonusz slides the butter plate across the table and Stiles smiles his thanks._

****

_Anita, Jonusz’s daughter, glides into the kitchen a few minutes later. Her pale blonde hair shines in the early morning light; it’s quite pretty. She smiles warmly at Stiles and murmurs a few foreign words of greeting to her father, bee-lining for the kettle._

****

_The kitchen falls into a companionable silence. Jonusz produces a newspaper from… **somewhere** and proceeds to read through it. Anita fills herself a bowl of cereal while the kettle is boiling her water. Stiles chews aimlessly on his toast – he’s still dealing with jetlag from traveling into a different time-zone. There’s a whole nine hours of difference between California and Poland._

****

_“Here,” Anita drops a steaming cup of hot liquid in front of him. Her accent isn’t as defined as her father’s and the softness of it suits her. “To help you wake up.”_

****

_“Thank you,” he accepts it gratefully. They drink weird things, he thinks, but he’s not going to be so rude as to turn down a warm drink when he’s a guest in their house._

****

_It smells medicinal and tastes even more so, but it’s not bad. It makes him feel warm throughout his body and by the time he’s drained half of it, he can admit that, yeah, he does feel more awake now._

****

_“What’s in this?” he asks curiously._

****

_“Mm, this and that,” Anita gestures vaguely, not even glancing up from her tablet. _

****

_While Jonusz reads the newspaper, Anita apparently uses her tablet; as they read, they make small comments about the articles. Jonusz sticks to his Polish, but Anita translates into English for Stiles’ benefit. It’s clearly a daily routine for the two of them, and it’s nice, Stiles thinks. It makes him miss his own Dad._

****

_As if sensing his distress, Jonusz clears his throat and starts folding the newspaper back up. “If you are finished with your meal, Mr Stilinski, perhaps we can now get started on the reason you came to us.”_

****

_Stiles glances down at the food on the table and nods. “Yeah, I’m done.” He feels more awake now and he’s had his fill of breakfast. “Um, you can just call me Stiles. **Mr Stilinski** makes me feel older than I am.”_

****

_“If that is what you would prefer,” Jonusz nods. “Now, if you would follow me through to the study, Stiles, we will begin your journey.”_

****

_Anita starts clearing the table and Stiles almost stops to help her. But she waves him on, and between that, and Jonusz’s expectant expression and, well, his own curiosity, he falls in behind Jonusz as they head through to the study._

****

_The study is a small room with a few bookcases and a writing desk. There’s a pile of heavy, leather bound books on the desk, and a few smaller ones scattered next to it._

****

_“So how are we going to do this?” Stiles asks curiously. “You tell me what I need to know and I take notes and we have a test at the end of the month or something?”_

****

_He’s only half-joking. He doesn’t eagerly anticipate the possibility of a classroom environment but he’ll deal with it, if only so he can learn about these things._

****

_“No,” Jonusz says, moving towards the desk. “I will not teach you. You will learn.” He taps the pile of heavy books. “You remind me a lot of your mother when I knew her.”_

****

_Stiles winces slightly. Jonusz looks apologetically at him but Stiles nods for him to continue._

****

_“She learned from my father. He attempted to teach her the way he taught me, with lectures and notes. But your mother did not respond well to that environment. I imagine you are similar in that aspect,” he smiles knowingly. “So you will learn all of these books under your own tutelage. You will know them completely.”_

****

_“That’s a lot of books,” Stiles observes weakly._

****

_“Do no worry,” Jonusz responds warmly. “Many of these books share information. They are written by many people with varying knowledge of lots of creatures, but many contain the same material. You will understand this when you read them.” He picks up one of the books sitting adjacent to the pile. “This is your book.”_

****

_“My book?” Stiles echoes, taking it for a closer look. It’s smaller and lighter than the other books on the desk. Delicately leather bound with blank pages and a winding tree embossed on the cover._

****

_“Yes,” Jonusz says. “You will read these books,” he taps the pile on the desk again, “and you will learn from them and you will write about what you learn in that book. It will be your own book of knowledge. Your journal and your guide. Your first grimoire.”_

****

*

****

**April 18th.**

****

Stiles wakes with the taste of ash on his tongue.

****

His right leg tingles slightly when he moves it. It’s an after-effect of what he’d done to the ghoul yesterday. He’d exerted a lot of power to burn it alive.

****

There’s a few unread texts on his phone; most are from Scott, inviting him to a pack meeting tonight where he can give them some answers about what happened yesterday and what exactly happened on his travels. There’s one from a friend up in New York; he’s been texting her for moral support during his return to Beacon Hills.

****

He doesn’t remember telling her about the ghoul incident before he’d crashed out last night but apparently he had. She’s wishing him good luck, and to let her know how it goes.

****

The last text is from a werewolf in London, just checking in because it’s been a few weeks since they last spoke. He shoots a quick text that everything’s fine and he’ll call later.

****

He returns to Scott’s texts and confirms that he’ll be there and does he need to bring anything, because he can make some snacks if no one will be getting dinner until after the meeting?

****

When he makes it downstairs, his Dad is drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

****

“I thought you were working right now?” he says, making for the fridge where he can grab some orange juice.

****

“I took the morning off,” Noah responds. “How are you feeling?”

****

“I’m fine,” Stiles pours a glass of juice and downs half of it in one gulp. The taste of ash is flushed away by the tang of orange. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be at work right now? Someone’s going to discover a body today.”

****

“I know,” Noah suddenly looks old and tired, the stress weighing down on him. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to stop that from happening. I can, however, have an impact here if you need anything.”

****

“Honestly, Dad,” Stiles waves him away, “I slept it all away. Now I’m just super hungry. I can make us something to eat, if you want? Before I take over the kitchen making a variety of snacks for the pack meeting tonight.”

****

“Some toast will do me fine, Stiles,” Noah responds with an amused smile.

****

“Okay, but I was gonna make pancakes.”

****

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to those,” Noah hurriedly amends, and both Stilinskis share a laugh.

****

After sharing breakfast, and being fondly reminded of his time in Poland, Stiles sets up to take over the kitchen as Noah leaves for work.

****

He has a rough idea of how many people are in the pack. He doesn’t want to make full dinners for all of them, but a range of small side dishes and snacks, as a kind of peace offering. Scott had really liked the pierogi on Monday so Stiles gathers the ingredients for them.

****

He also searches his recipe books for a few more dishes he can make easily before tonight.

****

He boxes the food up and loads it into his food truck. He also grabs his backpack and tosses it into the passenger seat. He’ll need that too.

****

At some point, he thinks, he’ll get his Jeep out from storage, where he left all those years ago, but he doesn’t have time right now. He’ll be late if he doesn’t leave soon.

****

It’s weird, he thinks absently. The lengths he’s going to, to make a good impression. Making food and wishing he had his Jeep and not wanting to be late. Most of the people in the pack already know him, it’s not like he’s meeting Scott’s parents for the first time or anything. But there’s a voice that nags at him to dress nice – well, as nice as he can without ditching his hoodie – and to act respectful and polite and to absolutely _not_, under any circumstances, talk about the Darach.

****

He draws some minor comfort in the fact that the ‘wolves won’t be able to hear how fast his heart is going or smell how anxious he is. He used to feel kind of… bared naked in front of heightened senses before he learned how to hide his scent and heartbeat.

****

Well, mute them at least. They can still be sensed, they just seem normal.

****

Pulling up in front of Melissa’s house, he takes a second to count through his breaths. It’s been a long time since he’s been this nervous; but it’s also been a long time since he’s seen most of the people he’s about to see.

****

Well, properly anyway. Yesterday doesn’t count.

****

He gathers up his food boxes and manages to make it to the door without tripping on anything. Scott must have heard him pull up because just as he’s realizing he can’t knock or ring the doorbell with his hands full, the door opens.

****

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott greets sounding unusually formal, until he looks at the containers in Stiles’ hands. “You brought food?”

****

“Uh, yeah?” Stiles bits his lip nervously. “I know a bunch of your pack aren’t eating until later because of… well, because of _me_, so I thought I’d bring a peace offering. Or a bribe, I guess.”

****

“Did you,” Scott sniffs, beginning to look more interested, “bring more of those pierogi things you made on Monday?”

****

“Yep. I mean, they got your seal of approval so I thought I could make some more. And there’s other things, like snacks, I guess. Um, are you inviting me in or am I doing the explanations from the doorstep, because I guess I’m cool with either?”

****

Scott blinks, looking startled and then a bit apologetic. “Oh, sorry, yeah, you should come in.”

****

He takes a couple of the food containers as he leads Stiles through to the lounge, like he doesn’t already know where it is.

****

“Do you still live here?” he asks curiously.

****

“No,” Scott shakes his head. “It’s just familiar territory for both of us, so I thought it’d be the best place for any discussions.”

****

Stiles nods slowly. He thinks it’s more of a trust issue than a comfort one, but he doesn’t say anything about it, just lets it slide.

****

“Everybody,” Scott announces as they enter the lounge, “you remember Stiles? From yesterday or… otherwise?”

****

A few of the pack members murmur acknowledgement: Allison smiles faintly at him, Isaac nods, Cora grunts sullenly, and the new members he doesn’t really know all offer a greeting. Lydia watches him with an appraising glance, the twins don’t really look at him at all, Derek’s leaning against the back of the sofa and then he sees _her_.

****

Standing across the room, her long dark hair swept back into a messy bun, looking as young and innocent as she had twelve years ago: Jennifer Blake.

****

Stiles’ hackles rise immediately. Because twelve years ago he accused Jennifer of being the Darach and right now, in this second, he’s just found out that he had been _right_. His eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as she gazes serenely back at him; but he can see in her eyes that _she_ knows he knows.

****

And then, deliberately, she looks at Derek.

****

Stiles follows her gaze. Derek is staring hard at him too, his eyebrows brought together in a tight scowl, his jaw clenched. He’s daring Stiles to say something, just to have the excuse to tear into him again.

****

And Jennifer knows that too. There’s a smug air about her, her lips twisted just minutely into a smirk. She’s challenging him too, because she knows Derek will defend her.

****

So Stiles says nothing because he’s smarter than that.

****

Instead he turns to the rest of the pack and holds up his containers. “I brought food?”

****

That immediately grabs the attention of the ‘wolves. Scott goes straight for the pierogi box while Stiles opens the others. “Okay, so Scott has pierogi, which is Polish type of dumpling, with mostly vegetarian fillings. I also have yaki gyoza, a Chinese type of dumpling with meat in the filling. And last but not least, there are samosas of Indian cuisine, some with meat and some without.”

****

“Where’d you get these?” Lydia picks up a gyoza with delicate fingers.

****

“I, um, made them,” Stiles admits almost shyly. She looks up at him with surprise. “This afternoon. As a peace offering. Um, or a bribe. Since you guys are gonna be late to dinner because of me.”

****

“These are delicious,” the blonde pixie cut werewolf – Sammi – has her mouth full of samosa. “Where’d you learn to make them?”

****

“Um, those I learnt in India.”

****

Scott shares his pierogi with Lydia, and the other ‘wolves dive into the food to investigate. Isaac offers a gyoza to Allison, who shakes her head firmly, prompting him to return it to the pile. Stiles squints at her for a second but says nothing once more.

****

Derek and Jennifer, notably, do not touch the food.

****

“Before you all get too distracted,” Derek says pointedly, “doesn’t Stiles have something to tell us?”

****

“Stiles?” Scott directs everyone’s attention to him, making him squirm a little.

****

“Um, yeah, before I do, would you mind helping me grab something from my truck?”

****

Scott blinks but nods. Stiles doesn’t miss the way Jennifer frowns worriedly in his peripheral vision but his request actually has nothing to do with her.

****

Scott follows him back out to his van, where he grabs his backpack, double-checking it has everything he’d packed it with earlier.

****

“You needed my help with that?” Scott asks disbelievingly.

****

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “I just wanted to be sure you knew I wasn’t gonna do a runner or something.”

****

“I didn’t think you would,” Scott responds and he’s probably telling the truth, but it’s the principle of it. Stiles is trying to earn his trust, so he’ll go out of his way to let the Alpha keep an eye on him.

****

When they’re back inside, he drops the backpack onto the table with a noticeable clunk. He winces slightly, hoping it didn’t leave a mark on Melissa’s table. “So, I guess, what do you guys wanna know first?”

****

“What’s in the backpack?” Sammi immediately asks.

****

“Nothing that will make sense yet.” He turns to Scott. “Ask away, dude.”

****

“What are you?”

****

Stiles waggles his fingers. “I’m a witch.”

****

“Don’t you mean a wizard?” another new werewolf – David? – pipes up.

****

“Nope. Witch and wizard aren’t gendered titles of one type of being. They’re two completely different types of magic users. Although, I don’t even know if there’s any out there that class themselves as wizards?” he trails off thoughtfully. “But that’s not really important right now.”

****

“How powerful are you?” Lydia asks curiously. “I mean, yesterday you burned that ghoul alive, right?”

****

“Um, yeah. Power’s kind of relative, though. It depends a lot on the individual witch. Some people never really learn more than what they read. Some learn things they’ll never use, just for the sake of learning. Others don’t learn, they just discover.”

****

“What kind are you?” Sammi asks.

****

“Kind of a mix of all three? I learned first what I was capable of, then I learned more than that, then I discovered. Witches are known for experimenting with magic, so that’s where the discovery comes in. But that’s a very simple way of putting it.”

****

“So what exactly can you do?” Scott asks, watching him with an expression Stiles can’t read.

****

“Uh, well, you saw that I can manipulate fire. That’s what happened yesterday, when I burned the ghoul alive. I, uh, focused my power on, well, cooking it.” He winces the description. “I can manipulate other elements too. Earth and water mostly. I can’t do air, but that’s mainly because I’ve never actually tried it? I mean, I probably could if I wanted to?” He frowns, considering for a second.

****

“What do you mean, manipulate them?”

****

“I can control them. Um, like I can create fire out of nothing. I can choose where it burns. I can put it out. Um, I can grow plants, kill them if I really wanted to, change the way they look and stuff. Same with water. I can even freeze it if I wanted to, and melt it without the use of fire. I mean, that’s the abridged version of it.”

****

“Can you show us?” Allison speaks up, leaning forward a little. “We haven’t met many witches, so we’ve never seen this kind of magic use up close before.”

****

“Uh, sure,” Stiles dusts food crumbs off of his hands.

****

“Is that safe?” Scott interjects hurriedly. “I mean, you almost collapsed after what you did to that ghoul yesterday.”

****

“I’m not gonna do anything on that scale,” Stiles assures. “That just took a lot of energy because I had to burn the fire hot enough to cremate its body. This is just a simple party trick, it’s one of the first things I ever learned to do with my magic.”

****

He cups his hands in front of him, and focuses on them. The pack watches with interest as first his eyes glow silver, then thin tendrils of silver snake across the skin of his hands. A few seconds later, a small flower sprouts from between his palms, shoots up and blooms a tender pink colour.

****

Scott notes, with interest, a tattoo on the back of his hand.

****

There are gasps around the room. Stiles plucks the flower and twirls it between his fingers.

****

“For you, milady,” he holds it out in a sweeping gesture to Sammi, who squeals excitedly and snatches it. She sniffs it a couple of times and pokes at the petals.

****

“It’s real,” her eyes are wide with disbelief.

****

“Of course it is,” Stiles grins. “I’m not a parlour trick magician.”

****

“Can we see more?” Cora speaks up for the first time, her attention fully caught by his show.

****

“Uh, sure,” Stiles cups his hands again, his eyes glowing once more. This time it’s a trickle of water that stirs in his hand, defying gravity as it streams upwards and then bubbles out into a replica of the flower in Sammi’s hands.

****

He holds it gently for a few seconds before it disintegrates, the water splashing through his fingers down to the ground. Scott makes an alarmed sound but the water evaporates before it hits anything.

****

“Okay, one more,” Stiles lifts his hands one last time and now he’s cupping a handful of fire that flickers in his palms. He lets it burn for a few more seconds before he snuffs it out with a clap of his hands.

****

“And it doesn’t hurt?” Lydia cocks a questioning eyebrow.

****

“Nope. If I make it myself, it doesn’t hurt me. Someone else’s fire might though, if they create it that way. Fire’s a dangerous element, magic or not.”

****

“Can you do other things?” Stiles can see a faint admiration in the depths of Scott’s face.

****

“This and that,” he shrugs. “I can heal people, uh, hurt them too. I can do illusion magic.” He holds one hand up and with another flash of his eyes, it turns red then orange then all the way through to purple, and then all the rainbow colours at once. “I know _how_ to see the past and sometimes the future possibilities but I don’t do that much. Uh, I’m also good at sensing my surroundings, so I can tell when people are witches or werewolves or whatever. Kind of like a witch’s version of a werewolf’s heightened senses. Stuff like that.”

****

“What about what you did with the knife yesterday?” Allison asks. “That was like telekinesis, right? When you saved me from that ghoul?”

****

“Uh, no, not quite,” Stiles chuckles lightly. “Hold on, let me show you.” Now he grabs the backpack and digs into it, pulling out a roll of material. He lays it out on the table, uncovering a set of three knives. Well, two knives and a stake. “This is a part of my arsenal, I guess. Yesterday wasn’t my first time encountering ghouls. I’ve met a lot of different things over the years. So I have weapons to deal with them.”

****

He pulls out the first knife, a smooth, red handle with a greying blade. “Redwood and iron. For fae. They’re affected by the iron but the redwood handle is just a play on the old wives’ tale that you’ll repel them if you wear red.” Next he pulls out the stake. “A steel railroad spike, modified into a stake. For vampires.”

****

“You mean stakes actually work?” Isaac asks disbelievingly.

****

“Not the stake part, the stabbing them in the heart part.” Stiles selects the second knife: a silver blade, the handle encrusted with blue gems. “This is my athame. It’s a ritual knife, so I use it to prepare ingredients for spells and stuff like that. This one is very specifically not used for killing things. Silver blade, oak handle and the blue stuff is lapis lazuli.”

****

“An athame?” Lydia echoes with a thoughtful frown.

****

“Yeah, like the Wiccan ritual knife? Not quite the traditional kind but the name fit, so,” Stiles shrugs, running his finger along the blade.

****

“None of these are the ones you used yesterday,” Allison examines each blade from afar.

****

“Oh, no, they’re not.” Stiles holds out his hand in the air, palm facing up. There’s a moment of confusion among the pack until a knife materializes out of thin air and drops into his palm. “This is the knife I used on the ghoul.”

****

He passes it to Allison to take a proper look at it. The handle is made of a pale wood, intricate designs carved into the handle. The blade appears to also be silver, with more designs woven through the metal. There’s a strange tinge of red in the depths of the carvings. It’s perfectly balanced and Allison finds it’s a nice weight in her hand.

****

“It’s nice,” she comments.

****

“That’s my general, one-size-fits-most knife. Silver blade, not because it works but because it’s symbolic. Silver is considered toxic to most creatures but that’s more of a mistranslation than actual fact. The handle is made of rowan tree, so I wouldn’t if I were you,” he warns Isaac as he reaches to touch it.

****

“Rowan is mountain ash,” Lydia supplies when he glances up in a distrustful confusion.

****

“Mountain ash _does_ affect most creatures, so it’s a good deterrent for someone trying to use it against me.”

****

“What are all these carvings?” Allison traces her finger along them.

****

“Wards. Or runes. Or sigils. Whatever your preferred term is.”

****

“What ones are you using?” Lydia’s interest is piqued at the mention of sigilwork.

****

“Lots,” he shrugs. “One of the sigils is designed to teleport it. There are matching sigils in my hands so it knows where to go.” He holds out his hands and a pattern matching one of the carvings glows under his skin. “I activate the sigil in my hand, it connects with the one on the knife and voila,” the knife disappears from Allison’s grip and reappears in Stiles’.

****

“Some of these along the blade,” he continues, “are binding sigils. The knife is bound to me by my blood. That’s another way to prevent it being used against me. If someone tried to stab me with it or something, the blade would break.”

****

“Has that ever happened?” Isaac asks.

****

“A couple times. But when I made the knife, I was smart enough to add this sigil on the bottom,” he shows the butt of the blade. “It’s basically a save point. So when I activate it, it returns the blade to the condition it was in when the sigil was added. So it repairs it or cleans it or whatever. It’s super handy.”

****

Lydia frowns. “I’ve never heard of a sigil like that, and I know all of them.”

****

“Who taught you them?”

****

“Deaton did. He gave me a bunch of his books when Scott appointed me emissary.”

****

“So it is true,” Stiles murmurs oddly. “Well, that’s why you’ve never heard of it.” He digs back into his backpack and pulls out a thick, leather bound book. There’s a pattern of sigilwork embossed on the covers. He flips through it until he finds a certain page, before passing it to Lydia. “Here, take a look at those.”

****

“Deaton taught Lydia all about the position of emissary,” Scott jumps in, feeling oddly obligated to defend his mentor. “I mean, he knew all about this kind of stuff.”

****

Stiles shrugs. “The difference between druids and witches is documented.” He points at his grimoire, as Lydia skims the text.

****

“I’ve never seen half of these sigils,” Lydia mutters, flicking through the pages. “I didn’t even _know_ there were sigils that could do this stuff. Why do some of them have spells under them?”

****

“That’s a complex issue,” Stiles responds. “Something I could teach you about if you wanted.”

****

“Really?” she looks up with bright eyes. “That’d be cool.”

****

“I mean, I could try,” Stiles amends after a beat. “I don’t know how far your capabilities extend with magic.”

****

“What do you mean?”

****

“Well, you’re a Banshee. It’s a different type of magic. I mean, your warding around the woods is pretty generic and you should definitely upgrade it, but I don’t actually know if _you_ can. And Allison definitely can’t, she doesn’t have any magic of note. Uh, no offense.”

****

“None taken,” Allison murmurs.

****

“You know about the warding?” Scott sounds surprised.

****

“Yeah, I felt them when I passed into Beacon Hills,” he says.

****

“But you didn’t trigger them, did you?” Scott glances at Lydia to confirm.

****

“Probably not, no,” Stiles shrugs. “Like I said, the wards are pretty standard. Like, they do for what you use them for, I’m sure, but they could be stronger. Or more complex.”

****

“Deaton never mentioned anything about better wards than the ones he gave me,” Lydia says, still flicking through Stiles’ book. “He said those were the strongest ones you could get.”

****

“Yeah, well, Deaton’s a druid.”

****

“What’s the difference? Don’t you both use a form of magic?”

****

“Why don’t you call Deaton a witch and find out?” Stiles snarks gently. “Druids and witches connect to magic and use it differently. It’s well documented.” Once again, he gestures to the book in Lydia’s hands. “If I gave that book to Deaton, he’d probably call it the work of the Devil. Or whatever his equivalent would be.”

****

“Why?”

****

“Druids and witches have the same roots in their knowledge. The same sigilwork and spellcraft and alchemy and all of it. Basically the knowledge that both druids and witches have can be traced back to the beginning of magic. But druids are very traditional and strict with their knowledge. They only ever stick with what they know and they discourage creativity with magic, preferring to always revert back to the roots. Druid knowledge tends to be… limited and they are very dedicated to their lifestyle. Witches, on the other hand…”

****

“Witches make their own knowledge,” Allison guesses.

****

“Pretty much,” Stiles acquiesces with a shrug. “Witches take what they learn and experiment with it. Most witches tailor their spells to their own abilities or preferences. They’re also more likely to push the boundaries of what’s possible. It clashes a lot with the druidic lifestyle so there tends to be a divide between the two. Mostly on the side of the druids but, you know, no one’s pointing any fingers.”

****

“Seems unnecessary,” Cora speaks again. “Having a rift when you’re basically the same.”

****

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that but druids started it. That, we know for sure. They haven’t exactly been the most helpful to the witch community.”

****

“I mean, Deaton’s been pretty helpful to us all these years,” Scott points out. “He used to be the Hale pack emissary, he knows what he’s talking out.”

****

“I’m not saying he hasn’t been,” Stiles responds evenly. “I’m sure he tells you everything he knows. My point is, he doesn’t know everything. He _chooses_ not to know everything.”

****

“So these sigils,” Lydia interjects, still staring at the book, “the ones I’ve never seen before; where did you get them?”

****

“Um, some are from other witches, some are my own.”

****

“You made your own sigils?” Lydia makes a small sound of surprise. “That’s what these are?”

****

“There’s a process,” he nods. “Sigilwork is very experimental.”

****

“And you can teach me this?”

****

“I can _try_. Like I said, your Banshee powers probably limit your magical capabilities. Obviously, you’re not a witch, but you might have some skill.”

****

She falls silent as she goes back through the pages of his grimoire. He takes a moment to survey the room.

****

Scott, Allison and Isaac appear to be absorbing the information. As do the three new betas, who’ve been quiet for the most part: Stiles figures it’s because they don’t really know him right now. Cora is studying him closely. Aiden also appears to be watching him with an odd expression; while Ethan is texting rapidly on his phone. Derek hasn’t said a word since the beginning of the conversation; Jennifer hasn’t said a word at all. Both are just staring him down: Derek looks like he’s waiting to pounce on him, while Jennifer is… smiling. That’s not unnerving at all.

****

“So this is why you left?” Scott says and he gestures to the table, where his weapons are still laid out, and to the book in Lydia’s arms. There’s a twisted look on his face.

****

The tension in the room heightens considerably. “No,” Stiles admits softly. “But it’s why I never came back.”

****

“I still don’t know why you left in the first place.”

****

“Scott,” Lydia places a gentle hand on his arm and he visibly relaxes. It’s sweet, Stiles thinks absently. “Maybe now isn’t the time.”

****

“I think now is the perfect time,” Derek finally speaks again, his voice cutting over Lydia’s. “He can’t lie to us with all the werewolves in the room.”

****

Stiles smiles faintly because he can and he will. For a moment, he considers telling the whole truth but there are things going on around Beacon Hills that he doesn’t understand yet. Like Allison, and Cora, and these sacrifices. It’s too early, too risky.

****

So he settles for the easiest truth. “In case you’ve forgotten, I had to sacrifice myself to save my Dad from the Darach,” and he doesn’t even look at Jennifer, to his credit. “In case you’ve forgotten, sacrificing myself came with the price of a darkness around my heart that I will feel for the rest of my life.”

****

“So did Scott and Allison, and they dealt with it without leaving.”

****

“Yeah, well, in case it escaped your notice, Derek, I’m not them,” Stiles responds quietly.

****

“You don’t get to use your darkness as a cop out for abandoning the people who needed you,” Derek barrels on like he hadn’t even spoken. “You weren’t the only who sacrificed themselves, Stiles, you don’t get to throw yourself a pity party, because you had it so bad. You have no idea what we through in Beacon Hills, you were too busy gallivanting around the world because you were too much of a coward to stay and fight, like the rest of us. Scott dealt with his darkness, Allison dealt with hers and they’re both still here. So why don’t you just admit that you left because you were a coward? At least so Scott can hear the truth once and for all.”

****

The entire room is silent, but all Stiles sees is the smug look on Jennifer’s face over Derek’s shoulder and suddenly he realizes why Derek’s so defensive of her. And he knows he can’t engage with that, not really. Not yet.

****

“I think I should go,” he says instead, his voice strained. As wrong as they are, Derek’s words still hurt. They still fuel an anger he’s worked to control. They still hang in the air and he wants to dispute them, wants to shove them right back down Derek’s throat, but he can’t.

****

“That’s it, run away like you always do,” Derek sneers unkindly. “Might as well blame it on your so-called darkness while you’re at it.”

****

And Stiles stops. He turns back around. His eyes are sharp with anger, his hands loosely clenched into fists at his side. He’s gonna give in, just this once.

****

“You know what, Derek?” he starts quietly. “Fuck you. I know that Scott and Allison sacrificed themselves. I know that they suffered with the darkness. And I know that they fought it with the help of the pack and their bonds. But that wasn’t me. It wouldn’t have worked for me. And do you want to know why?” he brings his fists up in the air. “Because my darkness did _this_!”

****

He slams his hands down like he’s hitting an invisible table, and every lightbulb in the house shatters simultaneously.

****

Both Isaac and Felix flinch at the noise, and Derek jumps back to avoid being hit with any shards of glass.

****

“So tell me how you would have helped me with that!” and now Stiles is yelling. “With your head so far up Jennifer’s ass, I’m surprised you had time to give two shits about _Scott_. You couldn’t have helped me, no one in this _room_ could have helped. No one would have known _how_. And Deaton wouldn’t have helped me, he’s a druid. I’m a fucking _witch_! So yeah, I went out and found people who could teach me and I spent the last twelve years learning from them and you don’t get to tell me how to deal with my darkness. _You don’t even know what it feels like!_”

****

Derek’s jaw shuts with an audible click. Stiles’ breath comes in soft pants in the aftermath of his rant, clenching his fists so tightly his nails are digging into his skin.

****

“I’m done here,” he snaps, before softening as he looks towards Scott. “I’ll replace all your lightbulbs. Let me know when you’re next free and I’ll answer more of your questions. But I’m gonna head out now.”

****

“Good idea,” Scott’s voice is tight and stern, and Stiles barely contains a wince, wondering if he just re-damaged all the wounds he had been trying to heal.

****

He collects his knives, and apologizes to Lydia as he takes his book back, promising her a more thorough read of it at a later date. The rest of the pack start filing out of the room; it’s clear the meeting is over for the night.

****

Stiles stays just long enough to clean up some of the glass from the broken lights, promising again to replace each one, before he properly leaves, containers of leftovers in his arms.

****

He, unfortunately, bumps into Jennifer at the door, and for a second he wonders if she had waited for him specifically.

****

“I’m glad you’re back,” she smiles serenely at him.

****

And as unnerving as it is, Stiles finds he believes her.

****

*

****

Scott paces the length of their bedroom. “I can’t believe he did that. Mom was so mad when she got home and found all of her lightbulbs burst. What was he thinking? Was he trying to scare us or show us how powerful he was or something? And he even got angry! Like he has any right to be, after everything he’s done to us. It’s not like Derek was saying anything that wasn’t true, you know. He didn’t need to react like _that_.”

****

“Scott,” Lydia interrupts placating.

****

“What!?” Scott snaps unintentionally, too distracted by being mad about Stiles.

****

“Don’t snap at me like that.”

****

Immediately, Scott’s shoulders slump, anger forgotten in the wake of guilt. “Sorry, I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that.” He sighs; now that Lydia’s stopped his ranting, he’s not actually sure what he’s upset about. “What were you trying to say?”

****

“Look, I don’t want to cause issues between you and Derek but you have to admit that he baited Stiles into that. He provoked him, Scott. Stiles tried to walk away, Derek’s the one who wouldn’t let go. So if you’re gonna be mad at Stiles for being angry, you have to be mad at Derek for being angry first.”

****

Scott sits down heavily on the bed. “I know, I just… He broke every light in the house, Lydia, I checked. And Mom is pretty mad about it. Like, that’s… bad, right?”

****

“He offered to replace them,” Lydia points out. “And honestly, I don’t think he meant to. He looked almost as surprised as the rest of us when he did it: I think he was just aiming for the ones in the nearby vicinity.”

****

“I just don’t understand where the anger came from.”

****

“Scott, it’s not entirely his fault. Derek was pretty harsh, how long could you really expect Stiles to just lie down in the face of it? I mean, he tried to back out, to not cause any tension but Derek’s the one who wouldn’t let him. And you can’t expect him to just take that kind of abuse in the name of proving himself a good friend. It’s not fair on him.”

****

“I know,” Scott sighs softly. “You’re right as always, Lyds. Thank you for knocking some sense back into me.”

****

“That’s what fiancées are for,” she smiles, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “And, hey, at least you have a better idea of why Stiles left right? So it’s not like it was a bad night.”

****

“I don’t think he was telling whole story, but I guess.”

****

“Come on, let’s get some sleep, okay? You have to work early in the morning.”

****

Scott nods slowly, and she slips away to get ready to sleep. He stays sitting on the bed, thinking for a while longer. He remembers feeling so angry when Stiles exploded the lights, and he remembers feeling so angry as he’d ranted to Lydia about the night but when he reaches for that anger again, he can’t find it. It doesn’t feel real anymore. And he can’t figure out why he’d felt it so strongly in the first place.

****

He just hopes he hasn’t done too much damage to his tentative friendship with Stiles because of it, though.

****

*

****

**September;  
**12 years ago.** **

** **** **

_“You like my daughter,” Jonusz says one day while they’re reading in the study._

****

_“Yeah,” Stiles answers slowly, unsure of his mentor’s meaning. “She’s nice. She’s been showing me around your town. It’s very, um, nice.”_

****

_“You think she is pretty, yes?” Jonusz peers over his book, his eyes glinting._

****

_“Uh, sure,” Stiles flushes slightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s quite pretty. In a purely platonic, non-romantic, just simply appreciating-how-nice-your-daughter-looks-and-I-completely-understand-boundaries pretty.” It’s not a lie, of course. Anita is very pretty to look at. But Stiles isn’t exactly going to admit anything more than that to her **father**; not when the man has been so kind to teach him how to control his powers._

****

_Jonusz lets out a low chuckle. “She likes you too.”_

****

_“She does? I mean, that’s nice. I’d hate to think she hated me and was just pretending.”_

****

_“Anita is my only child, you see. What she wants, she usually gets because that is what she deserves, you understand?”_

****

_“Sure? I mean, I’m not really sure why we’re having this conversation?”_

****

_“Stiles,” Jonusz puts down his book and that’s when Stiles knows things are getting serious. He swallows nervously. “You are smart boy. I have seen this in how fast you have learned the world around you. You know why. My daughter likes you and you like her. I have an… obligation to protect my daughter, you see? But I like you too, Stiles, I see no need to protect her from you if that is what you both desire.”_

****

_“O-Okay?” Stiles still isn’t sure what’s going on._

****

_“I do not oppose you. I will not stop you. My daughter deserves the best and you, Stiles, are good enough.”_

****

_“I, um, don’t want to hurt her, though. I won’t be staying, you said that yourself. I have to go meet some of your friends and learn from them. I can’t commit to anything.”_

****

_“This is true,” Jonusz concedes. “But Anita knows this too. And she still chooses you. I do not argue with that.”_

****

_“Okay,” Stiles glances down at his book hesitantly; the passage on vampires that he’s reading is very interesting. “But still: why now? Anita and I have been hanging out for a while.”_

****

_“Ah,” Jonusz chuckles again. “Anita is sweet girl. She tells me these things. She is also considerate. You are my student, one of a few I have taught among the years. She wished for my permission to court you during your time here. I tell you now because I want you to know that I agree with it.”_

****

_Stiles flushes faintly again, thumbing the page of his book nervously. “Well, I will treat her right, I promise.”_

****

_“Of course you will,” Jonusz agrees heartily. “You will treat her with care and respect and tenderness and joy. This I do not doubt. But I will still protect her if I have to, you understand? I like you, Stiles, but Anita is still my daughter.”_

****

_“Yep, absolutely, all of that, definitely,” Stiles stutters out. That sounds like Jonusz’ version of the shovel talk. It’s not as outwardly threatening as he would have expected, but that somehow makes it scarier. “I promise.”_

****

_“Good,” Jonusz smiles at him. “I am glad we had this talk.”_

****

*

****

**April 19th.**

****

Stiles wakes from a nightmare involving bound cages and blood and a sharp pain in his shoulder. He shudders, blinking it away before it gets stuck behind his eyes.

****

He’s awake early this morning. His Dad is still sleeping, as he creeps his way downstairs for a bowl of cereal, before heading out of the house. He doesn’t have a destination in mind until he’s drawn to the Preserve: to be among the trees and his kind.

****

They whisper to him as he passes by. Once again, he isn’t meant to understand them but it’s not always a bad thing. Trees talk weird sometimes.

****

He stumbles through the undergrowth to the sound of running water. He hadn’t known there were any streams in the woodland but then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever really been in this part of it before.

****

He senses the movement before he hears it and he knows it’s Derek before he sees him.

****

He tenses, remembering how well last night’s pack meeting _hadn’t_ gone, turning to face the ‘wolf, only to be faced with an actual wolf.

****

Or Derek in his full wolf form.

****

He saunters completely past Stiles, heading for the stream where he proceeds to duck his head and lap at the water. Stiles hesitates, watching him. Is the cold shoulder a result of last night? Because if anyone around here had the right to completely ignore the other in a case of stubborn anger and righteousness, it’s him.

****

Not that he would, of course; he’s simply pointing out that the privilege belongs to him.

****

But Stiles is a better man than that, and apparently a better man than Derek – or, at least, a better man than Derek’s wolf? – and he doesn’t walk away. He approaches carefully round his back, making enough noise that Derek can’t mistake his intentions.

****

“Um, Derek?” he hedges slowly. “I, uh, know you’re probably ignoring me and that you’re in wolf form, so you can’t answer back, which probably makes this easier but… I wanted to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have gotten angry like that. I mean, to be fair, you kind of asked for it? But that’s not the point, the point is I shouldn’t have reacted like that. And I’m sorry for the things I said.”

****

Derek lifts his head from the stream and stares at Stiles, his gaze red and unblinking.

****

“Right. Good talk.” Stiles shuffles on his feet for a moment. Obviously, Derek can’t respond, so now he feels little stupid, but he reminds himself that the response doesn’t matter. What matters is that he took the high road and apologized; even if it hadn’t been _entirely_ his fault.

****

Derek tilts his head in a very dog-like fashion. He’s still just staring at Stiles but he looks like he’s contemplating his words. Well, as contemplating as a wolf can look, anyway.

****

He takes a cautious couple of steps forward. Stiles tenses slightly, like he’s readying himself for a fight, but Derek doesn’t growl or pounce at him or anything like that; he just pads slowly towards the witch.

****

“Uh, hey, how’s it going?” Stiles chuckles nervously as Derek comes to a stop in front of him. “Are you okay?”

****

He’s definitely Derek, Stiles can sense it, but he’s acting completely different to how he’s been treating Stiles the last few days. He has his right to be angry, but in his wolf form, there’s no sign of it. Just a mild curiosity, as he scents at the air, leaning forward as if he’s trying to get a clear read on Stiles.

****

Stiles stumbles back a step as Derek invades his space but there’s still no malicious intent on the side of the wolf. He’s just nosing gently at one of his wrists, where he wears his charm. Stiles moves his hand out into the air for Derek to get a proper look. He’s not sure why the wolf zeroed in on that particular wrist, but he’s not gonna risk his wrath again.

****

Derek cocks his head again, but seemingly satisfied by his examination of Stiles’ wrist, he backs off, turning back to drink some more from the stream.

****

There’s the sound of a twig breaking and when he looks back, the witch is gone.

****

*

****

Jennifer isn’t home when Derek gets back from his run.

****

She’s been at work for at least an hour, if the time is anything to go by. Derek’s run must have lasted longer than expected: normally he gets back in time to say goodbye to her.

****

He’s lucky in the aspect that he’s not scheduled on Fridays.

****

He goes for a shower to wash away the dirt and sweat from his romp in the woods. Once again, he’d wolf-shifted during his run. Normally, he tries not to because Jennifer doesn’t like it, but the second he’d hit the treeline of the Preserve, the urge had been too great to resist.

****

He also doesn’t remember much from his run. It’s not often that the wolf takes over to such an extent that he doesn’t remember most of the shift, but there’s something in the woods that’s drawing it out right now.

****

Between the sacrifices and the ghoul attack earlier in the week, he makes a mental note to ask Lydia to check on the Nemeton, to make sure everything’s healthy with the trees.

****

After his shower, he finds himself pacing around his apartment, mind racing loudly. He feels restless and full of pent-up energy; his run had done nothing to calm him down, it seems, and he’s almost tempted to go for another one, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Jennifer probably wouldn’t like it.

****

He also can’t stop thinking about last night’s argument with Stiles. It sits uncomfortably in his mind. Up until the argument, he’d been interested in Stiles’ abilities and his development over the last twelve years. He’s not the only one to have noticed how much the boy – well, man now – has changed. After the way he’d fought those ghouls, it’s clear he’s had some experiences over the years.

****

The one thing that sticks out though, is that he doesn’t smell of magic. Not even when he’s using it: his scent remains steady and unchanged, which doesn’t make sense. Magic is a potent smell, that’s why it’s easily detectable to wolves’ noses. Melissa’s house had been full of the tang after the lightbulbs shattered, but Stiles’ himself just smelled normal.

****

The whole night had been weird, he realizes the more he thinks about it. He’d been on the defensive from the very beginning of the meeting, just waiting for an opening in the conversation that would allow him to attack Stiles.

****

But he’s not sure _why_. And Stiles hadn’t really deserved those words.

****

He certainly hadn’t deserved Derek’s attitude. However angry or upset he’d been about Stiles’ leaving and coming back, Derek had been too harsh yet again. The words he threw at Stiles, he feels ashamed of them now.

****

Mind made up, he stops pacing aimlessly and instead heads for his door, grabbing his keys as he goes. The Sheriff’s house isn’t that far from here, and he knows Stiles is still staying there, so it’ll be a quick trip to get this off his chest.

****

He’s not actually sure what he’s going to say to Stiles when he gets there but, from the way his wolf is howling happily in his chest, he guesses he’ll figure it out when he gets there.

****

*

****

“Derek?”

****

“Stiles,” Derek has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Mind if I come in?”

****

“Are you gonna yell at me some more?” Stiles asks warily, even as he opens the door and gestures for Derek to enter.

****

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, trying not to react too badly to that probably reasonable question. “I actually came to apologize.”

****

“What?”

****

“For what I said last night. It was rude and uncalled for–”

****

“Is this because of what I said in the woods?” Stiles interrupts. “Because if you’re just here out of obligation, you can turn around and walk right back out that door.”

****

“What?” it’s Derek’s turn to cut him off, stumbling over his words. “No, it’s not… What do you mean what you said in the woods?”

****

Stiles tilts his head back, eyeing Derek cautiously. “We ran into each other this morning, in the Preserve. I apologized for what happened last night. I mean, granted you were in your wolf form, but I _did_ apologize.”

****

Derek frowns, trying to drag the memory up from his mind; but his wolf clings to it stubbornly. “I don’t remember…”

****

“Yeah, clearly,” Stiles scoffs but he looks a little concerned around the edges of his expression.

****

“It’s, uh… When I full shift like that, the wolf kind of takes over and for some reason, the memories it makes aren’t always shared with me. So I don’t always remember what happens when I’m wolf-shifted.”

****

“Is that normal?” Stiles squints curiously. “That doesn’t seem normal.”

****

“It happens all the time.”

****

“Yeah, that sounds worse.” Stiles takes a moment to look Derek over, as if he’ll suddenly find all the answers he needs within the other man. “Anyway, apology accepted or whatever. You’ve officially one-upped me. I just apologized because I came across you in the woods. You came all the way to my house to say sorry, and it wasn’t even out of obligation, because apparently you can’t actually remember what I said in the woods. Which, by the way, does _not_ sound healthy, but I digress.”

****

They stand there in the middle of the hallway, just looking at each other. Derek doesn’t make a move to leave, which is what Stiles had been expecting.

****

“Um, so,” Stiles starts, “I was actually in the middle of making something to eat…”

****

“I should probably go,” Derek mutters, still just standing in the hallway.

****

“Unless you wanna stay?” Stiles offers quickly, fiddling with the sleeves on his hoodie. “I made a lot of soup so if you want some, it’s no big deal.”

****

Derek opens his mouth to refuse, but it’s not like he has anything better to do, not until later this evening. “Sure, why not?”

****

He follows Stiles through to the kitchen and he can’t deny that whatever he’s cooking smells good. His stomach grumbles slightly: he hasn’t eaten anything since before his run and he’s certainly worked up an appetite.

****

Stiles throws a hesitant smile over his shoulder. “Hungry?” He grabs a couple of bowls and opens the pot to spoon some soup out. “It’s nothing fancy, just an old family recipe I picked up in England. Not _my_ family, but I’m carrying on the tradition.”

****

“It smells… nice,” Derek says lamely.

****

“I’m sure Clara would be pleased to hear that,” Stiles presses the warming bowl into his hands, followed by a spoon. He grabs his own and leads Derek through to the lounge. “Well, dig in. I know from experience it tastes way better fresh.”

****

He hesitates for a moment but draws a spoonful of soup up to his lips, tasting it warily, as if he expects it to be poisoned. He’s not expecting how good it tastes. “Wow. This is…”

****

“Nice?” Stiles supplies with another grin, sipping from his own bowl. “Yeah, it’s a real comforting kind of soup, for bad days and cold weather. Guess that’s why it’s a family tradition. I’m, uh, glad you like it.”

****

“I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

****

“Well, I couldn’t always. When I was still in school, I knew the basics and I had a few recipes I could pull out for dinner with my Dad. But it wasn’t until after I left that I learned this kind of stuff. Clara taught me a bunch of comfort foods, like stews and stuff.”

****

“Did she also teach you your magic?” Derek asks carefully, his spoon scraping against the side of the bowl.

****

“No. Not Clara, at least. I worked for her, actually. I had to get a lot of short-term part-time jobs to survive. Didn’t want to leech off of the kindness of the people I stayed with. But Clara ran a small shop, so I was her assistant.”

****

Derek falls quiet for a moment. He runs a few thoughts through his head as he scrapes to the bottom of his bowl. The soup is warm and filling and he could eat a lot more of it if he’s given the chance.

****

It’s oddly nice. After last night’s argument, he hadn’t been expecting to share some soup with the apparent witch, but he doesn’t feel a need to remove himself from the situation. And Stiles seems in no hurry to get rid of him.

****

“Arietta,” Stiles says in his silence. “She was the witch in England I learned from. She taught me how to manipulate water.”

****

“What about the other stuff? The magic you were doing last night, did she teach you that? And the ones you mentioned?”

****

“Not her, no. I learned from a number of different witches. Each one taught me how to use a different skill. I learned how to manipulate the earth from a German witch. And I picked up my empathetic abilities in Thailand. I’ve kind of been all over.”

****

Derek’s curiosity piques, despite himself. “And the fighting? That wasn’t your first time fighting ghouls, was it?”

****

Stiles shakes his head. “I learned how to fight from a teacher in China. But fighting ghouls, I’ve done it a couple of times over the years. Ghouls are somewhat rare but the feral ones from Wednesday, they tend to be attracted to death. I’ve mostly avoided battlefields so I’ve mostly avoided ghouls in general. Nasty creatures.”

****

“Feral ones? You mean…”

****

“That they can’t be feral? Yes. It’s not common, but it’s possible. It’s not that they don’t crave flesh or anything but they retain their humanity enough to not be mindless about it.”

****

“And they’re infectious?”

****

“Not in the way that they can turn you into a ghoul. Ghouls are born. But feral ones don’t brush their teeth or do anything hygienic, like, _ever_. And there are a lot of nasty germs crawling on the dead bodies that they get stuck between them. So, yeah, _that_ kind of infectious? Definitely. But they won’t turn you.”

****

“And that happened to you?”

****

Stiles rolled up his left sleeve to show the nasty bite mark scar just below his elbow. “My first fight with one, I underestimated its strength. It managed to sink its teeth in. I fell sick pretty badly but luckily I had a few witches on hand to help heal me.”

****

Derek absently reaches out to run his fingers over the scar. “It looks bad.”

****

“Well, yeah, ghouls are gnarly. It tried to rip my skin off to eat; I was just lucky I managed to stab it before it did.”

****

Derek suddenly catches himself and pulls away from Stiles, but not before spotting a tattoo on the back of his hand. “You have a tattoo.”

****

“I have a few,” Stiles pulls his sleeve back down but there’s a weird note in his voice as he does so. Derek glances sharply at his face but it’s carefully neutral.

****

“Thought you hated needles.”

****

“They’re not that kind of tattoo. They represent my magic. There’s one for each kind I’ve mastered. This one,” he displays the eye on his hand, “is for my sensing ability. Like I can sense people’s powers and stuff, and even their mood; kind of like your sense of smell.”

****

It suits him, Derek thinks. Having a tattoo. He wonders what the rest of them look like and where they are. When he takes a look at Stiles, he can see curls of ink peeking out from his collar and the sleeve on his right arm. He wonders if Stiles would show him if he asked.

****

“How many do you have?”

****

“Nine,” Stiles responds and there’s that odd note in his voice again that draws Derek’s gaze back up to his face. The thoughts about tattoos vanish and he clears his throat, sitting back in his seat.

****

“Any of them real?” he asks but there’s a… divide between the two of them again.

****

“Technically they all are,” Stiles says, a little more distantly than before. “But none of them were done in a parlour or with needles, if that’s what you mean. They’re all magic.”

****

“Scott will be jealous,” Derek murmurs, grasping at the slipping mood. But it’s too late, the moment is broken, and the silence that settles between his words is a little more awkward now.

****

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles chuckles faintly. He opens his mouth as if to say more but he’s interrupted by Derek standing up and dropping his empty bowl onto the table.

****

“Thanks for the soup,” he says. “But I should be heading out now.”

****

“Uh, sure,” Stiles scrambles to his feet after the ‘wolf and gestures for Derek to follow him to the door. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Feel free to stop by for lunch anytime, I guess. And… thanks for coming to apologize.”

****

Derek turns as he reaches the door. “I… I did it for Scott.”

****

Stiles’ mouth turns down. There’s a forlorn note in his voice when he responds, “I know.”

****

And then he closes the door behind Derek, leaving him wondering why that tasted like a lie.

****

*

****

“I don’t see the point of this,” Isaac says, almost as soon as the ‘inner circle’ has sat down around Derek’s loft once more. “It’s not like we’ve learned anything new.”

****

“It never hurts to touch base,” Scott reminds him. “Besides, we might have discovered something new since Monday. Like Derek went out looking for yew trees and Cora and Felix have had a few days to start reading through those books. And each body is slightly different and we might get a clue that means something from one of them.”

****

Isaac nods begrudgingly. “I guess.”

****

“So, Derek, did you have any luck?” and everyone in the room manages to supress a wince at the hopefulness in Scott’s voice, right before his co-Alpha shakes his head.

****

“I’ve been around all the hiking trails. No sign of any yew tree.”

****

“Okay, well, Lydia, you were keeping in touch with Felix and Cora. Any luck on their side?”

****

“Not yet. They’ve been reading through all the books they have access to but nothing’s come up about a Celtic ritual matching our description.” Lydia fiddles with her pen a little. “Uh, Felix said he was looking into what else the Triquetra is used for. I offered to help them out with the reading in my free time.”

****

Scott is fully resigned when he turns to Allison. “And the body?”

****

“Same as the others. Died from apparently natural causes but they took her eyes.”

****

“Her eyes?” Lydia echoes.

****

“Yeah,” Allison nods.

****

“When they took the magician’s face, they left the eyes, right?”

****

“Yeah.”

****

“There’s gotta be some kind of significance with the body parts then,” Lydia flips through the pages of her notebook. “That might help Felix and Cora narrow it down.”

****

“That won’t help us find the witches who are doing this,” Isaac points out, missing the glare Scott sends him.

****

“Maybe not but if we know what they’re trying to accomplish, we might be able to create a counter-spell to stop them. Then we can worry about finding them.”

****

“Did you get anything else from the body?” Scott asks.

****

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Allison says quietly. “We don’t know how the eyes were removed or how it caused her death or anything about where she died except more yew tree traces. I’ve been looking at the photos to see if the leaves and berries are deliberate but other than that, it’s just like the others.”

****

“Is that everything?” Derek frowns. “So we still have basically nothing.

****

“Told you this was pointless,” Isaac murmurs.

****

“Then you don’t have to be here!” Scott snaps suddenly, frustration boiling over. “It doesn’t hurt to try. Unless you’d rather sit around and just let these people die for no reason. In which case you might want to find a new pack, because you should know by now that’s not how we do things around here.”

****

“Scott,” Lydia cuts in quickly before the conversation escalates.

****

Scott slumps down onto his seat, tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face as his anger melts away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

****

“No, that was my fault,” Isaac hurriedly amends. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been a bit stressed lately at work and stuff,” he glances at Allison. “I know why we have these meetings. I don’t want to find a new pack or anything.”

****

“I didn’t mean that,” Scott repeats, leaning into Lydia as she gently massages his shoulders. “I know it’s hard. To deal with this on top of everything we normally go through. Especially when these witches are making it so hard on us. You don’t have to come to these meetings if you need a break from this. I mean that in a good way.”

****

“No, it’s fine,” Isaac says nervously. “I want to be here. Even if I can’t help. I didn’t mean that these meetings are pointless. It’s just frustrating to have so little to go on.”

****

“You help more than you realize,” Scott assures, reaching out to squeeze his beta’s shoulder. Isaac shuffles close enough to let him.

****

The room falls into a soft silence. Lydia soothes Scott with a gentle kiss to his cheek, while Isaac seeks some comfort from his own girlfriend.

****

“I saw Stiles today,” Derek announces to the room then scowls when everyone swivels to stare at him. Why had he decided to say that?

****

“Does he have to replace more lightbulbs?” Lydia asks wryly.

****

“No, I–we apologized to each other,” he mutters defensively. “He told me more about his magic too.”

****

“Like what?” Scott asks, looking brighter as the topic diverts away from the sacrifices.

****

“Apparently he has tattoos for each type of magic he masters. And he mentioned some stuff about ghouls. He said they’re born and that not all of them are feral, like the ones we encountered in the woods.”

****

“Deaton’s books don’t say anything like that,” Lydia says somewhat uncertainly.

****

“Well, Stiles made it pretty clear that Deaton’s books aren’t definitive when it comes to the supernatural,” Allison points out. “Deaton, what was it, chooses not to know things?”

****

“That doesn’t make him wrong about the things he _does_ know,” Scott defends his mentor once again. Deaton’s taught him a lot over the years, and he won’t just forget it because Stiles happens to have different information.

****

“I’m not saying that,” Allison placates gently. “But if Deaton doesn’t know everything, he’ll only have part of the story. And if so, how does he know if he’s right or wrong? And then how can we know? We can’t always trust my Dad’s bestiary for the same reasons.”

****

Scott frowns but Allison makes a fair point. And they don’t have _much_ reason to disbelieve Stiles either, if he knows more than Deaton.

****

“Well, maybe we can ask him what he knows. If he can help us fill out our gaps in knowledge, then it’ll help us in the long run.”

****

“We can invite him back over tomorrow,” Lydia suggests. “To the pack house. Maybe we can pick his brains about ghouls and other things. And I’d really like a look at that book of his again. It was interesting.”

****

“What about the sacrifices?” Isaac asks carefully. “Do we ask him about them?”

****

Scott hesitates. “No. This is getting dangerous and it’s better if we keep it within the pack. Don’t bring it up to him.”

****

Isaac shrugs in agreement but Lydia tilts her head questioningly at her fiancé’s decision. Across the room, Derek shares a familiar look. They glance at each other but neither make a move to disagree with their Alpha outright.

****

“I guess that’s it for tonight,” Scott says and he’s back to sounding resigned. “I’m sorry to drag you guys all the way out here for a ten minute meeting.”

****

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek responds. “We’ll be here when you need us.”

****

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees emphatically. “Just say the word.” Even if he still thinks the meetings aren’t particularly useful, he’ll still try to support his Alpha.

****

“Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow. I’ll talk to Stiles later and make sure he’s there. Find out what he knows.”

****

“We’ll see you there,” Allison promises with a smile, following Isaac to the door. “Have a good night, guys.”

****

“Got anything you wanna talk about?” Derek offers as the door shuts behind the two. Scott considers the question, packing up his notes, but shakes his head.

****

“Not right now,” he says. “I haven’t spoken to Stiles since last night. Mom said he stopped by the hospital earlier to pay her for the lightbulbs. But that’s about it. Thanks, though.”

****

Lydia and he head towards the door as well, their hands linked between them.

****

“I don’t know if I’ll be around tomorrow,” Derek says hesitantly. “Jennifer might want me to spend time with her.”

****

“Well, she’s invited,” Scott responds easily. “She always is, she’s pack. And it’s only for a couple of hours.”

****

“I’ll talk to her about it but no promises,” Derek shoves his hands into his pockets. He knows that when Jennifer says no, it means no. She also doesn’t like the pack house, for some reason. They usually skip meetings that take place there unless they’re urgent.

****

Scott exchanges a quick glance with Lydia but doesn’t dwell any longer on the topic, as Lydia says her goodbye and they slip out the door, leaving Derek alone once more with his thoughts.

****

*

****

**November;  
**12 years ago.** **

** **** **

_“That was good, yes?”_

** **** **

_Anita rests her chin on Stiles’ bare chest, looking up at him from under her long blonde hair. One hand is drawing lazy patterns onto his skin, as he taps his fingers gently against her spine. The blankets they’re wrapped up in are tangled around their legs and hips._

** **** **

_“Um, in my experience?” he responds, still a little dazed. “Yeah, that was good. But I don’t really have much experience.”_

** **** **

_“Me neither,” she agrees. “But it was still good. And we will learn to be better.”_

** **** **

_“Are you propositioning me?” he asks with a grin._

** **** **

_They’ve been dating for two months now, ever since he’d had that conversation with Jonusz. It’s been a fun, experimental fling – fully aware on both sides that it’s not meant to last. But Anita hasn’t been put off by the inevitability that is Stiles’ departure._

** **** **

_Tonight, they have the house to themselves. Jonusz has gone out to see a theatre production and won’t be back for a few more hours._

** **** **

_Stiles is under absolutely no illusions that Jonusz won’t know what they’ve done. That man is smart and perceptive; but they’re also two young adults in a whirlwind relationship left to their own devices for a night. Even Stiles can put those clues together._

** **** **

_“Papa won’t be back for a while,” Anita flicks her hair over her shoulder, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “We have time for more experience.”_

** **** **

_Stiles traces his fingers over the soft, milky skin of his girlfriend – it’s still weird to say that word. She’s even paler than he is, but her skin is unblemished by moles or freckles. Pale hair, pale skin; the only contrast is the dark brown eyes that Stiles knows she got from her father._

** **** **

_Sometimes he thinks about Lydia; about how his only reference for the female body had been the internet and his imagination; how he had once believed he never would have looked at another girl, and certainly never would have seen her naked; how he had dreamed what sex with his first crush would have been like, using only his hand as guidance._

** **** **

_And yet, here he is. Lying in bed with a beautiful girl who isn’t Lydia, who **wants** to be there with him; having just lost his virginity._

** **** **

_And somehow the sex had been better than he’d anticipated. He thinks it’s because it had been real. With Lydia, it had only ever been a fantasy; but Anita is right here, next to him, pressing kisses down his collarbone, keening her hips slowly against his, her hands curling gently around his sides._

** **** **

_“When you put it like that,” he hooks an arm around her hips and flips the two of them, Anita squealing with laughter. “How would you like to experience it this time?”_

** **** **

_Lydia is but a distant memory as he draws his girlfriend into a messy kiss between her giggles, fully intending to take advantage of the few hours they have left alone._

** **** **

*

** **** **

**April 20th.**

** **** **

Stiles will vehemently deny, if asked, that he got lost in the woods on his way to the pack house. And by lost, he means he went the scenic route through the trees and got distracted for a whole half hour before he eventually makes it to his destination.

** **** **

Which is apparently Derek’s old family house; built up from the remnants of the foundation.

** **** **

It’s big. Bigger than Stiles remembers the old house being. Of course, it seems that more people are living in it now. He assumes Derek is, probably with his evil girlfriend. He knows Scott has his own place with Lydia, and he assumes the same of Allison and Isaac; but there’s still a good few pack members to account for.

** **** **

“Almost thought you weren’t coming,” Scott’s voice pulls him from his thoughts and he turns to see the Alpha, his old best friend, leaning in the doorway of the entrance.

** **** **

“Sorry, I got… distracted,” Stiles steps forward, offering a hesitant smile. “Am I still good?”

** **** **

“Well, you did show up in the end,” Scott responds but he cracks a smile and gestures for Stiles to enter. “You’re still good. Everyone else is already inside.”

** **** **

Stiles follows him through the lounge where everyone has gathered. Except it’s not everyone: none of the parents are here, which isn’t surprising; what is, however, is the lack of Jennifer and Derek – Jennifer’s absence being the more welcome one, of course.

** **** **

Peter is lounging in the background; and then Stiles sets his eyes on one more pack member he hasn’t seen since he arrived: Danny.

** **** **

He glances up from where he’s entangled with Ethan and smiles faintly. Stiles manages to nod in response but there’s something unusual about his old classmate that has him frowning in thought.

** **** **

“Well, you pretty much know everyone here by now,” Scott is saying from his side. “And you remember Danny, right? He hasn’t been at the last few meetings because he works nights as a bartender in the town.”

** **** **

“Speaking of which,” Lydia saunters up to Scott, greeting him with a happy kiss, before turning to Stiles. “Us non-werewolf types who can get drunk are going out for drinks to celebrate Danny’s promotion. Wanna join us?”

** **** **

Stiles looks to Scott before answering but there’s no sign of protest in his friend’s face. “Uh, sure, why not? When?”

** **** **

“Tonight.”

** **** **

“Yeah, I can be there.”

** **** **

“If three’s a crowd, four’s a party,” Lydia grins cheerfully. “Be ready by seven.”

** **** **

Stiles salutes the redhead, who heads back to her seat next to Allison and Cora. Scott smiles wryly at him.

** **** **

“You don’t need to go if you’re not into that,” he says.

** **** **

“No, it’s cool. It’s probably a good idea as well; gives me a chance to talk to more of your pack on a more personal basis.”

** **** **

Scott nods slowly. “Well, there’s no show and tell today. I’d like to ask you a few questions but this is just a day for hanging out. It’s good to have these, as a pack, for bonding purposes.”

** **** **

“I get it,” Stiles glances around the room once more. “A few of the, uh, _healthier_ werewolf packs I met on my travels did similar things. So… what do you want to ask me about?”

** **** **

Scott gestures for Stiles to walk with him, deciding to show him around the house a little bit. “Derek mentioned you knew things about ghouls. We don’t have much experience with them ourselves and we only have Deaton’s books for reference, so maybe you could tell us some things we don’t know. For future reference.”

** **** **

“And, uh, what exactly do Deaton’s books tell you?” Stiles asks, a knowing look on his face. Druids, man, always ruining his fun.

** **** **

“Ghouls are creatures of death, in that they are dead and they feed on the dead. They’re scavengers, usually found in places where there’s a lot of death. Can’t be reasoned with because they’re always aggressive.”

** **** **

Stiles contemplates this information with a hum, fiddling with his wrist charm. “Well, that’s not entirely inaccurate, which is to be expected for Druid knowledge. See, it’s mostly right when you’re talking about feral ghouls.”

** **** **

“Implying that there are tame ones?”

** **** **

“Well, yeah. See, ghouls are one of those weird, inconsistent species. All ghouls are born human. You can’t be bitten, like a werewolf can. And not all ghouls turn ghoul; some of them are human their entire life and never know what they are. They still carry the ghoul genetics but they never change. And ghouls never register as a ghoul until they do. That’s partly why ghouls are rare, because a lot of their species only ever have the _potential_ to become one, and many never do. A lot like magic users, I guess.”

** **** **

He pauses to let Scott absorb his words, waiting until he’s given the all-clear to continue.

** **** **

“Nobody’s really sure what triggers the change from human to ghoul. For some, it’s the result of a traumatic event or injury, the survival instincts kicking in. For others, it’s a natural ascension of power, as regular as a birthday. But they all start turning ghoul.”

** **** **

“And that’s when they go feral?” Scott guesses but Stiles shakes his head.

** **** **

“No, ghouls go feral when they taste human flesh. See, the change is different for each person, or ghoul. But the one consistent symptom is the hunger. They’ll start craving meat, then they’ll start craving it raw; and the final step is craving human flesh. Not all ghouls reach this point: a few of them can survive on a strictly raw meat diet. But there are many that are driven to the craving for human flesh, and when they do taste it, it, like, _completes_ their transformation. That’s when they start to develop their strength and speed and claws and fangs and whatnot. But, like I said, not all of them reach this point and no one’s really sure what the criteria is.”

** **** **

“Deaton’s books don’t say anything like this,” Scott says, verging on doubtful.

** **** **

“Doesn’t surprise me. He’s stingy like that. I think it’s a Druid thing.”

** **** **

“And you keep saying that too. What’s this whole rivalry you keep mentioning? Like how come witches apparently know more than Druids but never shared it with them?”

** **** **

Stiles stops at the entrance to the dining room, gazing around it. “The history between witches and Druids is long and a bit convoluted. But many of the witches and Druids cling to the traditions and transgressions of their previous generations.”

** **** **

“But what does that mean? How does it affect Deaton teaching you about magic?”

** **** **

“Because Druids don’t like witches. Witches break the traditions that Druids have carried with them through generations, for centuries. Druids consider themselves _above_ witches because of their traditions. But witches only break those traditions because Druids forced them to in the beginning. So, in return, witches don’t like Druids. And over time, the line between the two has been twisted into an irreparable divide.”

** **** **

Scott shakes his head. “But Deaton’s not like that. He’s never considered himself above the witches we’ve encountered over the years. You could have asked him to teach you magic, he would have helped you. He’s different from the Druids you’re talking about.”

** **** **

“What’s your point?” Stiles cuts in harshly. There’s an anger burning in his eyes the more Scott pushes the topic.

** **** **

“I’m just trying to understand,” he rubs his temple. “You gave your magic as a reason for leaving but you didn’t have to go find other teachers. Deaton would have helped you if you’d just asked. I just want to know why you left, okay?”

** **** **

“Because I didn’t want to stay!” Stiles snaps. Scott flinches back slightly, Stiles sighing heavily. “Look, there were a lot of reasons I left. Magic was just the easiest one. And… it’s not about whether Deaton _would_ have or not, even though I assure he is a very traditional Druid. He straight-up _couldn’t_ have because he doesn’t know magic. The things I can do? He wouldn’t know if they were possible or not because Druids _choose_ to close themselves off from that knowledge; and he sure as Hell wouldn’t have known how to teach me to do them. He would have stunted my growth and dictated my learning under Druidic rules which would have done nothing to help me control my powers. Do you understand now?”

** **** **

Scott frowns at the floor. “I guess it’ll just take me a while to trust you again.”

** **** **

Stiles once again thanks the Gods for his ability to hide his scent and heartbeat; he can’t deny that that hurt a little bit, even if it’s deserved. “I don’t even know why you’re bringing it up. It was twelve years ago. What’s the point in dwelling on it?”

** **** **

“I just want to know the truth.”

** **** **

“Well, I’m not lying to you.”

** **** **

“I know,” Scott agrees, even though he doesn’t really, “but I also know you’re not telling me the whole truth.”

** **** **

“Trust is a two-way street,” Stiles points out and his words hang in the air. Scott opens his mouth a couple of times but changes his mind about whatever he was going to say, instead stepping back from the doorway.

** **** **

“Okay, then,” he says finally, extracting himself from the situation. “I’m going to go check on my pack. Feel free to look around the house some more.”

** **** **

Stiles stays quiet as Scott backtracks his way through to the lounge. The atmosphere from earlier in the week, after he’d given Scott the postcards, is lost for now, it seems. Things are more complicated underneath the awkwardness of welcoming each other back into their lives and it’s gonna take some time to find their footing again.

** **** **

Especially since they’re both keeping their own secrets.

** **** **

Stiles is distracted from his thoughts by Allison slipping past on her way back from the toilet apparently. He doesn’t remember seeing her passing by before but maybe he hadn’t been paying attention.

** **** **

“Allison?”

** **** **

“Yeah?” she turns to him with a hesitant smile.

** **** **

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

** **** **

“Uh, sure,” she glances down the hallway towards the lounge but follows him into the dining room. “Everything okay?”

** **** **

She gives him a funny look as he deliberately shuts the door behind them, drawing a glowing symbol on the wood once it’s closed. “Yeah, I guess.” He turns to her once he’s sure the sigil is active. “I just wanted to clarify with you before I said anything in front of the pack because I don’t know if you’ve told them?”

** **** **

“Told them what?” she asks confused.

** **** **

“That you’re pregnant?”

** **** **

Her smile drops and she looks horrified as she glances towards the door, one hand coming up to rest protectively on her abdomen. “Stiles!”

** **** **

“Don’t worry, I warded the door,” Stiles lifts his hands to placate the huntress. “They can’t hear us. So I take it that means you haven’t told anyone?”

** **** **

She relaxes a fraction but still looks worried, twisting her hands together. “Only Isaac.”

** **** **

“Makes sense. I won’t tell anyone either, of course. I just wanted to make sure because I didn’t want to out you in front of the pack if you weren’t ready.”

** **** **

“Well, I mean, how did you even know?”

** **** **

Stiles taps his temple. “Magical sixth sense. How are you hiding it from the pack?”

** **** **

“I found this drink in one of Lydia’s books,” she says quietly. “Twice a day, it hides the scent and muffles the heartbeat when it forms. Not even Isaac can tell.”

** **** **

Stiles nods slowly. “Alright. Sorry about cornering you like this. I just wanted to clarify with you before I said anything about it to anyone else.”

** **** **

Allison smiles tentatively but she’s still twisting her fingers together. “But you won’t tell anyone, right?”

** **** **

“Of course not,” Stiles assures. “Here, I’ll tell you one of my secrets.” He holds up his right wrist, where he wears his charm bracelet. “This hides my scent and heartbeat from anyone or anything with supernatural senses.”

** **** **

She blinks at it. “You mean…”

** **** **

“They can’t hear when I lie or anything like that. They can’t even tell that I’m a witch, not by scent at least.”

** **** **

Allison’s smile is a bit brighter this time. “So when Scott or Derek talk about how you can’t lie in a room of werewolves?”

** **** **

“Yeah, I can if I wanted to. I haven’t, for the record, but I could. I mean, that’s partly why I made it. I got tired of werewolves and their kin pointing out when I was lying, especially if I was doing it to protect them or myself. So I started hiding my heartbeat.”

** **** **

“And no one else knows?”

** **** **

Stiles shakes his head. “Not even my Dad. So now you know one of my secrets. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

** **** **

It does seem to put her at ease, from the way she relaxes more and her smile comes easier as she touches her stomach again. “Agreed.”

** **** **

“We should probably head back now. They’ll be wondering where we got to. Well, where you got to, at least.”

** **** **

He deactivates the sigil on the door, removing it as he leaves. Allison slips through the door after him, heading back to the lounge. Stiles lingers for a moment longer, just taking one last look around the hallway and the dining room before following.

** **** **

*

** **** **

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

** **** **

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Stiles glances down at his outfit.

** **** **

“It’s the exact same thing you were wearing this afternoon,” Lydia points out as she swans past him into his Dad’s house, their agreed meeting place.

** **** **

“Is not,” Stiles argues with a grin at the familiarity of their banter. “I’m wearing my black jeans, actually. I’ve been told they make my ass look good.”

** **** **

“Let me see?”

** **** **

Stiles chuckles as he pivots on the spot to let Lydia survey his jeans. Once upon a time, he might have fainted at the thought of Lydia wanting to see his ass, but now it’s all in good fun.

** **** **

“Well, whoever told you that wasn’t wrong,” she acquiesces, “but the red sweater?”

** **** **

“I never go anywhere without it,” he says, tugging on the cuff.

** **** **

“Well, now’s a good time to start,” she gestures at him to take it off. “We’re going to a club, Stiles, you can’t wear something as ratty as that–”

** **** **

“No!” he snaps and she flinches back at the sharpness in his tone. “Sorry, but no. I don’t go anywhere without it. It’s important.”

** **** **

“It’s just a sweater,” she says warily.

** **** **

“It’s actually a hoodie,” he corrects pedantically, sighing softly at Lydia’s flat look. “Fine, I’ll take it off. But I’m still taking it with me.” He pulls it off in a quick motion and loops it around his waist instead, tying the sleeves together. Any words Lydia had about the look die on her tongue when she sees his tattoos.

** **** **

On his left arm, just above a bite scar, there’s a black hand curling around his elbow. But it’s the one on his right arm that she can’t tear her eyes away from. Tree branches and vines wind their way down the entirety of his arm, twisting and knotting as they do. It’s an intricate design with leaves and flowers and fruit entwined throughout. The colours of the tattoo are dark and shadowed, and the fruit is like none she’s ever seen before. It’s a striking tattoo.

** **** **

The roots of the tree disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt, a slogan from a TV show splashed across his chest. She doesn’t even have any words about that; the way he fills the material out makes it look good, even if he is a nerd about it.

** **** **

“Everything okay?” he’s raising his eyebrow at her.

** **** **

“Fine,” she says after a moment. “That’s a nice tattoo.”

** **** **

“I know,” he responds. “What time will Allison be here?”

** **** **

“Uh, probably in about ten minutes,” Lydia glances at her watch, wondering if the tattoos are a touchy subject for him. “She volunteered to be the designated driver. I offered to pay for an Uber or something but she was pretty adamant.”

** **** **

“Who else is gonna be there?” Stiles turns away to avoid giving away any sign that he knows why the huntress won’t be drinking tonight.

** **** **

“Just Danny, since it’s his promotion we’re celebrating. But he’s meeting us there.”

** **** **

“What about Cora?”

** **** **

Lydia looks at him curiously; no one has told Stiles about her condition yet. How does he know that she’s all but human these days? “No, she won’t be coming.”

** **** **

“And Jennifer? Will she be there?”

** **** **

Her gaze hardens as she looks at him. “No,” she says in a steely tone. “She’s not joining us tonight either. Why do you ask?”

** **** **

“Well, she’s _human_, isn’t she?" Stiles responds evenly, his eyes narrowed. Something about the way he says that leaves Lydia feeling slightly uncomfortable.

** **** **

“Right. Yeah. Um, she wasn’t interested.” Why had she been so defensive all of a sudden?

** **** **

“Okay, well, I’m going to make us some tea while we wait.” Stiles disappears off to the kitchen. Lydia takes a seat, checking her phone for any messages.

** **** **

There will likely be a sacrifice tonight, and body to be found tomorrow. It feels weird to be out drinking instead of working on finding the witches and saving lives, but it’s also the only night they’d all had free to celebrate Danny’s promotion for at least a few weeks.

** **** **

Sometimes it’s weird to think that most of them have hit their 30s at this point and they’re building lives together – Allison and Isaac live together, she and Scott are engaged and so on – but sometimes they still have to deal with supernaturals being drawn to the Nemeton. Except now they have to fit those cases around their daily lives. Scott can switch shifts with Deaton and Isaac can use his job as a cover and she works for herself; but Allison can’t get away from the hospital as easy. Derek’s schedule isn’t flexible. And most of them don’t have good enough excuses to miss shifts at work, not without telling their bosses the truth.

** **** **

Stiles doesn’t seem to have many commitments, she thinks. He’s been travelling for twelve years, learning who knows what; but he doesn’t seem to have a job or a long-term girlfriend or a home in another country. It’s like he’s still a teenager, just living without any responsibilities or expectations.

** **** **

A warm cup of liquid appears under her nose, startling her from her thoughts. “What’s this?”

** **** **

“Tea,” Stiles says. “Learned it from a friend. Well, a girlfriend. But it’s good if you’re planning on drinking. Keeps you hydrated.”

** **** **

It’s almost like he’d heard her thoughts. “Girlfriend?” she echoes.

** **** **

“Ex,” he corrects. “I have a few of those.”

** **** **

“Bit of a heartbreaker?” she teases, taking a sip of the drink. It’s sweet, almost like honey.

** **** **

Stiles laughs. “I wish. Near constant travelling for twelve years doesn’t really leave a lot of room for long-term prospects. I didn’t really stick around anywhere for long.”

** **** **

_Except, maybe, once._

** **** **

“Just long enough to steal their tea recipes.”

** **** **

He snorts. “She gave that to me willingly. We went out drinking for a birthday, so she made us all drink a cup of that beforehand. She was very responsible.”

** **** **

“Responsible? Doesn’t seem like your type,” Lydia grins teasingly, although she falters when Stiles doesn’t return the sentiment.

** **** **

“Guess we don’t really know each other that well anymore,” he points out, once again echoing her very thoughts from only a few moments ago. “Like you and Scott? Never would have seen that coming.”

** **** **

“It was a bit of a surprise for us too in the beginning,” Lydia admits. “Jackson and Aiden are a type that Scott doesn’t quite fit. But then again it never worked out with them. Scott’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” she smiles fondly down at her engagement ring.

** **** **

“Well, I’m happy for you. You guys are good together. Of course, I am slightly biased: Scott’s my b–my friend and Aiden was a bit of a dick when I knew him.”

** **** **

“We were all a bit of a dick back then,” Lydia counters easily. “Aiden’s a good guy when you get to know him. And he’s definitely mellowed out over the years. He’s a strong member of the pack now, both he and Ethan.”

** **** **

“I don’t doubt it,” Stiles’ tone is neutral as he sips his own tea.

** **** **

“You’ve changed a lot too,” Lydia comments carefully. “And at the same time it seems like you haven’t.”

** **** **

“All part of my charm,” he shrugs. “But I haven’t changed that much, Lyds. Not really. Probably just seems that way because you _have_.”

** **** **

“Don’t be modest, it doesn’t suit you. I mean, you have magic now, Stiles. That’s a pretty big change. And you can do things with it that I didn’t think were possible. Deaton always made it sound like magic was very limited.”

** **** **

“Yeah, well, you really don’t want to get me started on that again.”

** **** **

She chuckles faintly just as there’s a knock on the door. “That must be Allison.”

** **** **

Stiles collects their empty cups and disappears into the kitchen, while Lydia goes to greet her best friend. A few seconds later, Stiles is locking the door behind them and they’re setting off for the club, looking forward to a night of relaxation and bonding.

** **** **

*

** **** **

“Stiles! You came.”

** **** **

Danny somehow manages to sound surprised, even though Stiles is sure Lydia told him he’d be here.

** **** **

“Danny,” he greets in equal enthusiasm. “Heard you got promoted. Congrats.”

** **** **

“Thanks,” Danny nods. There’s an awkwardness of not really knowing each other anymore after twelve years; if they even knew each other in the first place. Aside from pestering Danny about his appearance and a couple of wolf-related escapades, back when he hadn’t really been involved with the supernatural, Stiles can’t really say that he and Danny had ever been anything more than forced acquaintances.

** **** **

“Come on,” Lydia interrupts, “let’s grab somewhere to sit before we get stuck with standing room only. I don’t know about you but my heels are killing me right now.”

** **** **

“Then why’d you wear them?” Danny asks with a quirk of his eyebrow.

** **** **

“They pull my whole look together. Don’t you know anything about fashion?”

** **** **

“On and off,” Danny shrugs, as Lydia guides them to an empty table in the back corner of the bar. It’s slightly quieter and less crowded and gives the illusion of privacy in the somewhat busy establishment.

** **** **

“Okay, I’ll get the first round,” Lydia offers. “What do you guys want?”

** **** **

“Just a water for me,” Allison quickly says.

** **** **

“Yeah, I’ll have that too,” Stiles agrees, dropping down into the corner seat, scratching absently at his scar. It feels weird to not be wearing his hoodie out in public like this.

** **** **

“What kind of celebration is this if you aren’t even gonna have one drink?” Lydia lifts her eyebrows, hands on her hips.

** **** **

“Designated driver,” Allison points out with a soft shrug.

** **** **

“Alcohol messes with my magic,” Stiles responds, which had probably been true once. Jonusz hadn’t let him have a proper drink until he was sure the witch could control his magic, and he’s never gotten drunk enough to actually test his restraint.

** **** **

Lydia acquiesces after a studious look at both of them, turning to Danny to take his order.

** **** **

“You don’t have to do that,” Allison murmurs, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. “Not drink because I’m not.”

** **** **

“Well, the magic thing is true,” Stiles shrugs faintly. “I’m cool with it. I’d rather not drink anyway. Gotta keep my wits about me.”

** **** **

“Thanks, though,” Allison says after a beat. “For not drinking. It makes me feel less… obvious about it.”

** **** **

“Anytime.”

** **** **

After bringing the first round to the table, Lydia drags Danny onto the dancefloor with another quip about how they’re supposed to be here to celebrate. Allison just smiles good-naturedly, while Stiles gives yet another of his patented shrugs, sipping his water.

** **** **

“So Derek said you guys apologized for Thursday,” she says casually.

** **** **

“I guess. I mean, yeah, we did. Yesterday.”

** **** **

“So everything’s good with you two?” she tears her eyes away from watching Lydia and Danny and turns to him, a seriousness settling across her features.

** **** **

Stiles huffs a humourless laugh. “I don’t think we’ll be cool as long as he doesn’t trust me. But civil? Sure. As long as he doesn’t rip my head off again.”

** **** **

She hesitates. “You know he’s just trying to protect Scott, right?”

** **** **

“Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

** **** **

“But you think differently?”

** **** **

He glances at her, contemplating his answer. He’s not really interested in starting a fight or causing further divide between him and the Pack. “I think he’s trying to protect Jennifer.”

** **** **

As expected, she doesn’t have an immediate response to that. She turns his words over in her head, taking a drink of her water as a cover. “Can you blame him?”

** **** **

“No,” Stiles replies shortly. He blames Jennifer, actually.

** **** **

“He didn’t take it well when you accused her like that. None of us did. Even now, Jennifer still thinks we might kick her out of the Pack because of something you said twelve years ago. It’s a touchy subject.”

** **** **

“That sounds like more like a Jennifer problem,” Stiles says, almost bitterly. “Twelve years and she still doesn’t trust you to have her back. That’s not my fault.”

** **** **

Allison bites her tongue on that. He has a point, even if he does seem dismissive of the impact he had on everyone when he blamed Jennifer for what happened to his Dad, then just up and disappeared into the night.

** **** **

“It’s not just you, you know,” she says instead. “Derek gets a little protective every time it’s brought up. Because we never found the Darach. Sometimes, we talk about them and he doesn’t like hearing about it. Even when it’s Scott.”

** **** **

“Has he ever reacted to him the way he did to me?”

** **** **

“Well, no…” Allison trails off hesitantly. “But the last memory he had of you before you turned up was upsetting Jennifer. That’s probably still raw for them in particular. Maybe you could try apologizing? Put it all behind you properly?”

** **** **

“Maybe,” Stiles echoes.

** **** **

“I mean, it’s been twelve years. If there was any proof to what you said, we would have found it by now. You can’t still think she’s the Darach, right?”

** **** **

Stiles squints at her in the dim light of the club. She sounds like she’s trying to bait out a specific answer from him, fishing for information. It’s not hard to figure out why.

** **** **

“No,” he answers, somewhat truthfully. “I don’t. I know better than that now.”

** **** **

In that he definitely knows, for sure, that Jennifer is every bit the evil Druid he accused her of being all those years ago.

** **** **

“Okay,” Allison smiles at him and relaxes back into her seat. “Just had to be sure.”

** **** **

They fall into a mostly companionable silence. Stiles checks his phone to see a couple of texts from his friends, checking to see how he’s doing. He fires off his responses, before turning to Allison with a burgeoning curiosity.

** **** **

“So tell me about these new ‘wolves you’ve picked up over the years.”

** **** **

*

** **** **

**December;  
**12 years ago.** **

** ** **** ** **

_The young woman smells like peppermint when she hugs Stiles. Fresh off the plane from Poland, he’s not expecting such a greeting and so he blinks stupidly for a few seconds before awkwardly returning the embrace._

** ** **** ** **

_“You must be Stiles,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m Elle. Jonusz has told me all about your abilities.”_

** ** **** ** **

_“Not sure there’s much to say,” Stiles says, hefting his backpack onto his shoulder. “All I know how to do is **not** use it.”_

** ** **** ** **

_“Oh, Alek here can help you with your luggage,” Elle waves over a tall man with kind, twinkling eyes. “This is Alek, my fiancé. Be a sweetheart, would you?”_

** ** **** ** **

_While Alek takes his suitcase from his hands, Elle winds a gentle arm around his shoulders and guides him towards the exit. “Knowing how to **not** use your power is incredibly important. Many people have struggled with such an ability and that has only lead to trouble. And it will only make my job easier.”_

** ** **** ** **

_“Which is?” Stiles isn’t sure what to expect. Jonusz had briefed him on what he was going to learn but, as implied, had been very brief about it. Perhaps so he wouldn’t go into his lessons with prior expectations; perhaps to encourage his curiosity; perhaps only because Jonusz had thought it fun to keep him in the dark._

** ** **** ** **

_“I am an alchemist, you see? I am going to teach you how to be powerful without magic. You already have your first grimoire, correct? I am going to teach you how to use that knowledge, **without** the use of your abilities.”_

** ** **** ** **

_The Norwegian sun is warm on his face as they head through the doors to the outside, although the air is cool. He doesn’t have the warmest of clothes on right now, so the shiver is expected._

** ** **** ** **

_“But that can wait,” Elle takes note of his chill. “You are no doubt hungry and tired after that flight. How about we head home and I can make you a nice meal to welcome you to my country? Perhaps you can catch me up on exactly what you know.”_

** ** **** ** **

_“Sounds good,” and he does feel somewhat drained and definitely hungry. The flight hadn’t been that long, Poland to Norway, but travel does have a way of sucking out all your energy._

** ** **** ** **

_Elle guides him to their car, parked not too far from the entrance. “We do live far out so you will have time to rest up in the car. Nature is good for alchemy and witchcraft but it does leave for long journeys back and forth to civilisation.”_

** ** **** ** **

_Alek relieves him of his backpack to store in the trunk of the car next to his suitcase. Elle ushers him into the car, acting oddly mothering for being only a few years older than him._

** ** **** ** **

_He has a chance to finally take in his surroundings as they pull out of the carpark and start the journey back to his new teacher’s house. Beacon Hills is but a distant memory for once, under the blue sky and between the tall, evergreen trees of his surroundings._

** ** **** ** **

_He sits back in the car, takes a deep breath and allows himself to drift into a light nap._

** ** **** ** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, one of those highly-anticipated flashbacks to Stiles' time away from the pack.
> 
> I wondered for a while if I've overtagged this fic. There are some p spoiler-y things in the tags (no plot twist with Jennifer unfortunately) but I also want people to know what they're getting into when they read this, without giving away the whole plot in the summary. Plus I like being organised like that. Idk, what do you guys think?
> 
> Also, I hope the magic is making sense to you. I still have lots to delve into with that but I've made the mistake of over-complicating it before (or over-sciencing it).


	5. hearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unwanted nightmares:
> 
> Allison asks for Stiles’ help; while Derek finds a body. Scott and Stiles’ tenuous relationship is tested when a new threat makes itself known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is 22971 words long. it is the longest chapter of this fic so far. it took me 2 and half hours to edit it for posting. by the time we hit Chapter 7, we will probably have hit 100k word count mark, like wtf. 20k used to by my average length for fics, for context.
> 
> anyway, we have hit 1155 hits, _21_ whole bookmarks and over 100 kudos. thank you guys so much for your support, you have no idea how much it means that so many of you are enjoying my writing. I hope I continue to live up to your expectations throughout the rest of this work.
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING** for _BLOOD && GORE_ and _REFERENCED/IMPLIED TORTURE_ in the later parts of this chapter.

**December;  
12 years ago.**

****

_“Alchemy is the most basic form of spellcraft,” Elle explains over a quiet breakfast of pancakes and regular, non-herbal tea. “Spellcraft is a most Druidic form of magic use. It relies on drawing from the magic found in the world and manipulating that. Alchemy is the foundation to this.”_

_“Like potions and stuff?” Stiles asks as Alek drops a plate of pancakes in front of his fiancée, kissing her cheek as he does so._

_“In a way. It is hard to explain in words but we believe that nature itself contains magic within everything, down to the very last blade of grass. In every animal and fish and bird; every flower and tree and stream and grain of sand. It is all around us.”_

_“Like the Force,” Stiles grins jokingly._

_“Yes, much like the Force,” Elle agrees with a matching smile, which throws Stiles for second. He can’t help but think that Deaton would have scolded him for such a comparison; but the veterinarian is a world away from this cosy house in the wilderness of Norway. “However, unlike the Force, magic does not simply exist around us as an energy to be harnessed, but rather within nature itself. This is where alchemy is born.”_

_“So it’s like mixing ingredients and stuff, right?”_

_Elle nods once. “Correct. That is alchemy in the most basic of forms. Much of nature contains inherent magical qualities. Flowers than can wake you up or send you to sleep, fruit that can heal you or hurt you, plants that can make you happy or sad. Herbal teas are a form of alchemy, but much more tame compared to what we can do.”_

_“So what **can** we do?”_

_“In the broadest sense of the term? Whatever we want. It is understood that whatever witches can do with our powers, we can replicate with alchemy. Create fire, freeze water, heal people, hurt them, so on and so forth. Using alchemy as a substitute for our magic is easier but it is not as malleable or delicate. However, it can be good for rounding out your abilities. And, well, you never know when you’ll be unable to use your powers. It is always good to have a back-up in such a situation.”_

_Stiles listens intently. He knows a little about the concept of alchemy but Elle’s speciality as a witch is spellcraft so she has much more depth to her knowledge._

_“Witches forge their own knowledge, but alchemy comes from the Druids. There is not much that we share but the concept of alchemy started with them. Druids were considered the medical practitioners of Celtic culture and it is their affinity for alchemy that gives them this title. They were the first to understand the concept of magic and attempt to use it for their own purposes. Times have changed but credit is where credit is due, as they say.”_

_“Jonusz mentioned that Druids and witches don’t really get along,” Stiles says._

_“This is true. And we have our reasoning. But our knowledge comes from the same place and since Druids were the pioneers in such topics, we do not ignore their impact on our history. Even if it is largely negative.”_

_Stiles nods in understanding. He hasn’t yet been told the history of the Druids and why there’s a feud between them and his kind, but neither Jonusz nor Elle look particularly thrilled whenever they’re brought up._

_“Your first lesson in alchemy is the concept behind it,” Elle says. “Do you have your grimoire with you?”_

_“Uh, yes,” Stiles fumbles for it, and the pen he had been told to bring._

_“If you have any questions, feel free to ask. This can be a lot to take in at first.” Elle waits for Stiles to nod his affirmative before continuing. “I know you have learned about the types of creatures that exist in the world. So you must know the theory that each of these creatures has their own form of magic within them that makes them what they are.”_

_Stiles nods again. “And the theory that everyone has a little bit of magic in them but in most, it’s too insignificant to have any impact.”_

_Elle waves that theory away. “That is under much debate, do not follow it too closely. Anyway, the same principle applies to nature. Everything has a touch of magic within it, and this magic gives each thing a unique quality. Anything that has a magical quality can be considered an ingredient. And the concept of alchemy is that when you mix the correct ingredients together, you can create a potion or elixir that magnifies these qualities and allows them to affect people. Where some witches can influence people to, for example, fall asleep, other witches can make a potion that does the same thing.”_

_Stiles jots down her words in his book. These are the kinds of lessons he can enjoy. Even if he is sitting and writing as if he were in a classroom, he knows this is just the theory behind the practice he’ll be doing in a few days._

_“The easy part is mixing ingredients,” Elle continues. “It gets more complex when you start casting spells. When you mix potions, you rely on the magic within the ingredients to do what it has always done: make someone feel tired, for example. Even non-magic users can create potions. But spellcasting involves manipulating this magic towards your own uses. For example, an ingredient used to make a hot drink being used to start a fire. This is where incantations come into practice. This is also where non-magic users meet their limits. Incantations require a natural ability to manipulate magic, in order to activate it. This is why you very rarely find witches who rely solely on alchemy. And this is also how creatures such as werewolves or banshees are capable of casting spells; the magic that makes them what they are allows them to perform incantations.”_

_“But Druids use spellcraft, right?” Stiles taps his pen against his book. “And Druids don’t have enough magic to be counted as an individual species, because it’s a way of living for them as opposed to natural power.”_

_“Correct,” Elle nods, a faintly proud smile on her face. “You ask a good question. Have you ever seen a Druid book of spells?”_

_“Not spells, just a kind of bestiary.”_

_“Druids are the Keepers of Knowledge. That is one of their positions in the natural order. This is why much of witches know can be traced back to Druidic origins. And Druids keep some of the oldest knowledge there is: the language of magic.”_

_“Magic has a language?”_

_“Magic has many languages. It can be spoken, it can be read, it can be heard. And the oldest spells in the world can only be found in the language of magic. This is what Druids use to speak their incantations and it is also what they use to invoke their wards; but sigilwork is a topic for another day.”_

_“Is that why there’s such a divide in the knowledge between witches and Druids? Because they can’t actually do what we can?”_

_“A good theory but not quite. One thing you must understand is that the world of magic is full of inconsistencies. It follows different rules to the ones that dictate the physical world. As such, magic languages cannot be translated in the way that one would translate Norwegian to English. This is because the written magic languages translate themselves, usually into your mother-tongue. However, you can translate your language into the languages of magic. As the Keepers of Knowledge, Druids have the ability to do this. The important fact is that they **choose** not to. They are perfectly capable of performing all the spells a witch can but, simply put, they refuse to do so.”_

_“Okay, two things,” Stiles has his face twisted up in confusion. “How do you know something is written in a magic language if it translates into something you can understand?”_

_“Magic languages are the oldest languages in the world. And they are also magic. They translate themselves into your mother-tongue, but **only when you need to read them**. Otherwise they remain indecipherable. It is a… complex issues, I know.”_

_“Okay, more than two things. How does a language know when you **need** to read it? What even constitutes **needing** to read it in the first place? And does this mean Druids are able to read them all the time? Like, how is an ancient, dead, untranslatable language their only way of casting spells? That doesn’t make sense.”_

_“Welcome to our world,” Elle says with a smile. “Magic is bound by different laws. Newer theories believe magic itself is sentient and it makes these decisions. But no one truly understands how magic actually works, only really how to use it.”_

_Stiles sits back, absorbing the influx of information. This is the world he lives in, where his main source of power apparently appears to be a sentient energy that lives by laws of another universe. Naturally._

_“Sometimes things aren’t meant to be understood,” Elle says, watching a dozen different expressions flit across his face. “What was your second thing?”_

_He blinks for a second. “Oh, right, uh, how come Druids are the Keepers of Knowledge if most of their knowledge is wrong?”_

_Elle chuckles. “Ah, yes. That is the unfortunate truth of tradition.”_

_“Tradition is just peer pressure from dead people,” Stiles quotes; he can’t remember where he’s heard that before but he likes the phrase._

_“Perhaps,” Elle agrees. “But Druids are bound to their lifestyle. And tradition dictates they cannot accept knowledge that does not belong to them. But tradition also prevents them from seeking out their own knowledge. Not really sure who wrote those rules in the first place, but that is the way of the Druid lifestyle. Of course, nothing says these traditions are set in stone but Druids are taught to value them above all else. Which is unfortunate: all it would take is one thought and Druids could change the future of their magic.”_

_“So how do they have knowledge at all?”_

_“Because Druids have a long-standing alliance with one group in particular.”_

_It takes Stiles a second to figure it out and he has to think back to his days in Beacon Hills. Reading through the Argent bestiary and Deaton’s books and how he built his own database based on that information. “Hunters,” he guesses._

_“Yes. Hunters hunted and Druids would exchange magic for knowledge. But hunters would only see one side of the supernatural world and usually the bad side because that is what they were trained to do. Druids built their foundations on the biased knowledge of hunters and that is the information that is passed down along the Druidic lineage. But hunters are not bound by the same traditions and they were able to seek out other sources of information, including witches; thus their knowledge can differ from that of the Druids.”_

_“How come Druids didn’t do that? Seek knowledge from witches and other sources?”_

_“Some did. A few Druid lineages have allied themselves with certain species. Werewolves, for example. But even then, they are still only broadening their knowledge by a small amount. They still lack much of the knowledge that witches have sought out.”_

_“But why? Like why don’t we get along with Druids?”_

_“Ah, yes, another good question. Has Jonusz told you the history of the first witch?”_

*

**April 21st.**

Stiles wakes in a blind panic in the darkness of his room. Gasping for breath, plagued with visions of his nightmare, he fights for control with his blankets. It’s not until he falls out of his bed, his knife unconsciously summoned to his grasp, that he remembers where he is.

In his old bedroom, in his Dad’s house.

He takes a few moments to orient himself in the present, touching a scar on his shoulder to ground himself. It had just been a nightmare.

“Stiles,” he jumps at the sound of his Dad’s voice on the other side of the door, accompanied by a soft knock. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry, just fell out of bed,” he calls back, rubbing at his scar as it tingles with phantom pain.

Noah makes a small sound of acknowledgment and moves away from the door. Stiles waits until he can’t hear his Dad’s footsteps anymore before he starts moving.

He’s not unfamiliar with nightmares – his experiences over the years have certainly left him mentally-scarred as well as physically – but it’s been a while since he’s had any. He drinks tea and uses dreamcatchers and a dozen other tiny things to guarantee at least a restful sleep, even if it’s not entirely peaceful.

This time, though, it had been… bad. Vivid and terrifying and for a long moment when he’d woken up, he’d almost been convinced that the nightmare was, in fact, reality and he was back in that fucking cage again.

He shudders and shakes the image from his head. He’s fine, he’s safe. He’s in his old bedroom, it’s Sunday, his Dad is downstairs making breakfast, and there’s a bird chirping a happy tune outside his window. The sun is out, his magic fizzes at his fingertips and his shoulder is fine.

He stumbles to his feet and quickly dresses. As he pulls his hoodie over his head, he feels his nightmare vanish from his mind. He always feels safer with his hoodie on, but then again, that’s the point of it.

“There you are,” Noah glances up when Stiles makes it down to the kitchen a few minutes later. “I was making something to eat, do you want anything?”

“Uh, actually, I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” Stiles says. He doesn’t feel hungry at the moment after his panicked awakening but the morning air will hopefully rouse his appetite. He glances at the time, a little after eleven. There’s going to be another body discovered in about an hour.

Despite his attempts earlier in the week, he hasn’t managed to find out anything about the victims or the sacrificial connection: his Dad has, essentially, been sworn to secrecy; Deaton doesn’t actually know anything; and the Nemeton doesn’t have any direct connection to the apparent sacrifices or missing people.

There are, however, still a few people around town he could try; namely, Chris Argent or Peter Hale. Or he could even go straight to the source and ask Scott about the deaths.

But today’s not a day for that. He’s somewhat still shaken up from his nightmare and all he wants right now is to go for a walk and indulge in the fact that he _can_.

“Take a jacket, it’s cold today,” Noah is saying, pulling him back into the moment.

“Don’t need one, but thanks,” Stiles smiles wryly. Yet another thing his hoodie is good for. “Don’t eat too much, you need to watch your diet.”

Noah shakes his head fondly. “And you make sure you eat something. You’re always telling me that magic takes energy. You won’t have any if you don’t eat and sleep properly.”

“I sleep fine,” Stiles calls over his shoulder with a grin, as he grabs his wallet on his way to the door. “I’ll catch you later, Dad.”

It’s certainly a cooler day today. The sun is bright but any warmth is belied by the sharp breeze, sweeping clouds across the sky. There’s a chance for rain later, he thinks, setting off at a brisk pace, but his hoodie is designed to protect him from such elements. His jeans, however, not so much, but Stiles isn’t necessarily opposed to getting wet anyway.

It’ll help keep him orientated in the present.

Instead of being drawn towards the Preserve, Stiles heads in the opposite direction towards the middle of town. There’s a nice café in a small street that he’d like to get food at and hopefully by the time he reaches it, he’ll be hungry enough to want to eat.

*

He’s not exactly hungry when he reaches his destination but the sudden downpour spurs him to enter the café for a break and order at least a coffee. More than a slight chance of rain today, apparently; while not opposed to the weather, it’s also too heavy for him to enjoy walking in.

He’s standing in the queue for his order when he spots Allison in the corner, drinking some green drink while reading through a heavy book. As if she can sense his gaze, she looks up to see him; her eyes alighting with interest, she waves him over.

“Stiles,” she greets when he eventually reaches her with his coffee. “I’m glad to see you. I was hoping I might be able to pick your brain?”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” he slides into the seat opposite her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nothing bad. But you seem to know things that no one else does; at least no one that I want to ask right now.”

“Okay?” he’s only vaguely following what she’s trying to say.

“You’re the only other person who knows I’m pregnant,” she lowers her voice as if she’s expecting someone to be listening. “Isaac and I aren’t telling anyone yet, so I can’t really go to Derek or Deaton right now.”

“Can I ask why?” Stiles asks, looking more understanding. He’s not sure what Allison’s questions are but he’ll try his best to answer them; he’s had some experience with supernatural pregnancies over the years.

“We were gonna wait until the end of the first trimester?” Allison twiddles her fingers anxiously. “Because the first twelve weeks are supposed to be really fragile and there’s a high chance of miscarriage during that time? I mean, things are kind of hectic with the Pack right now. And as much as I want to tell them, I also don’t want to risk it. Especially if I do end up, well…” She gestures towards her person.

“I get it,” he shrugs loosely, because he does. “What kinds of things do you wanna know?”

“Just like… I went for my first scan a few days ago. What are the chances it’s gonna be, y’know, a werewolf?”

“Around, if I was to give it a number, 40 percent? Isaac’s bitten so he doesn’t carry the gene naturally. If it was Derek, who’s born, it’d be higher. And even Scott as a True Alpha would have a more equal chance. But with one were parent and one human parent, it tends to be pretty flip-a-coin.”

“Okay, and, uh, how early am I gonna be able to tell?” she asks. “Will I have to find, like, a midwife in the know or something?”

He laughs a little at that. “No, your baby isn’t gonna have fangs and claws and sideburns in the womb. You won’t know if it’s a were or not until you give birth. And even then, ‘wolves don’t go through their first shift until they’re around 4 or 5; when their body is mature enough to handle it. Kind of like an early form of puberty.”

She looks a little relieved, sitting back in her seat. “And if they are a were… is that going to affect me in any way? Because I’m human?”

“Have you ever seen Twilight?”

“Yeah?” she sits up a little, her eyes widening.

“And during the third one or something, she’s carrying that vampire baby?”

“Yeah?” Allison’s tone sounds panicked now and he manages to squash down another laugh.

“Okay, you’re not gonna start craving blood or break your back or anything that extreme but it’s not a bad example. You’ll probably just feel the pull of the moon when it rises, or crave your meat a little bit less cooked or have a desire to go romping through the woods. You’ll be more sensitive to smells and touches and sounds but you won’t have to hide away for the next 9 months or anything. You’ll be fine. If it is a were, then it’s likely be a smoother pregnancy. Werewolf babies tend to be just as durable as their adult counterparts.”

Allison sits back again, taking a drink of her green stuff. She twists her face up at the taste, and even Stiles can smell its potency. “Yeah, this is the stuff that hides my condition,” she explains. “It tastes worse than it smells, I assure you.”

“I’ve smelled worse,” he shrugs gently. “Does it work okay? You might have to look into something stronger as your pregnancy progresses.”

She looks crestfallen, peering at her drink. “Isaac says he can’t tell that I’m pregnant but I didn’t think about the signs getting stronger. There were only a couple in the books that I could find; this one was supposed to be the strongest.”

Stiles taps his fingers on the table in an absent rhythm. “Maybe I could look into some things for you. Things better than that drink, at least.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Sure. I mean, I have magic, might as well use it. Plus that means you can vouch for me next time Scott or Derek get… frustrated,” he grins at her, only half joking.

She smiles back. “I’d appreciate that. I’ll definitely have your back if you can help me.”

“Anytime. Any other questions?”

“No, not right now. But thanks for answering them. I don’t really have anywhere else to turn to right now. Y’know, first pack baby. And I can’t ask Derek or Deaton or anyone else without people finding out.”

“Well, if you think of any others, feel free to ask. Even if I can’t answer them, I can probably ask some of my contacts for help too, without anyone finding out. I’ve seen a few pregnancies and kiddie weres in my time.”

Allison smiles warmly at him, switching her green drink for a herbal tea. They sit quietly for a few moments, just enjoying the atmosphere and their drinks.

The silence is broken by the sound of Allison’s phone chiming. She fumbles for it, checking for messages. Stiles doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen in concern, glancing up at him as she responds. He checks his own phone for the time: a little after noon. Three guesses as to what her text was about.

“Listen, I have to go,” she says, packing up her things. “Pack business. Thanks again for answering my questions. I’ll see you around, Stiles.”

“See you around,” he echoes back at her, as she grabs her jacket and heads back out into the rain. He watches her leave, his attention snagged by an oddly familiar figure passing by the other side of the street. His breath hitches suddenly, memories of his nightmare swimming behind his eyes. _It can’t be… can it?_

Allison and her Pack business are forgotten as he tracks the familiar figure until it disappears from his view. First the nightmare and now someone who looked an awful lot like someone from it: it can’t be a coincidence.

And that means Beacon Hills is in trouble.

That means _Stiles_ is in trouble.

Stiles gathers his phone and wallet, and all but bolts from the café, coffee left forgotten in his haste. He needs to get home, where his arsenal is.

This is not going to end well.

*

“Everything okay?” Isaac asks when Allison meets him at Scott’s apartment. He reaches to squeeze her hand comfortingly and she smiles warmly at him.

“Everything’s good. I, uh, found out some things that I’ll tell you later, okay?”

He nods, just as Scott opens the door and gestures for them to enter.

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming,” he sounds tired. “I know it’s Sunday and it’s short notice but, well, you know why I asked you here.”

“It’s fine, Scott,” Allison pats him gently on the arm as she passes by. “This is what we have to deal with right now, it’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, we’re used to it by now,” Isaac agrees.

In the lounge, Lydia is already serving four coffees and one tea. Derek is standing in the corner, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks about as pleased to be here as Scott does at having to invite them here.

“Let us guess, Kelsi Jones?” Isaac sits down on the sofa and thanks Lydia for his coffee with a tight smile. Allison sits next to him, accepting her tea gratefully.

“Derek found her,” Scott says as an answer; which is interesting in itself. Before now, they’d only been found randomly by people outside the pack and only Isaac had seen the scenes before the bodies were removed.

It also explains how quickly Scott had texted them to come over.

Derek sighs a little at the attention he suddenly finds himself under. “She was at the side of one of the hiking trails. I found her around noon.”

“And?” Allison prods.

“She was missing her ears. Everything else matches the other scenes we know about. The foliage, the brandings and bindings, everything.”

“Could you tell how long she’d been left there?” Isaac asks curiously. He hadn’t been able to tell when he’d been on scene but Derek was a born wolf with consistently more experience.

Derek frowns. “It was too hard to tell. The scents were too… indistinguishable. She’d been left there recently, obviously, but I couldn’t tell when.”

“What about the yew tree leaves? Do you think they were deliberate?” Allison asks.

Derek shakes his head. “I couldn’t tell. They looked natural to me, but what do I know about staging leaves on a body?”

“They definitely have to be left there purposefully,” she points out. “Even if they were just from the scene, they wouldn’t have left them if they weren’t important. I mean, these witches are meticulous. I wouldn’t put it past them to wash a body to keep us from knowing too much.”

“I still haven’t found a yew tree,” Derek paces along the floor. “I’ve been combing the woods but nothing yet. The Preserve is… big.”

Lydia flicks through one of her many notebooks. “There has to be some kind of relevance with the body parts. First the brain of a teacher, then the eyes of a photographer and now the ears of a musician? It’s too specific to be random.”

“A musician?” Allison glances over. “That does seem kind of… deliberate.”

“And the spine of a firefighter fits the pattern too.”

“That still leaves us with Terry Morgan,” Isaac cuts in. “Not to repeat earlier arguments but the face of a magician doesn’t exactly make sense. And these witches are too meticulous to have that kind of odd body out.”

“There has to be something about him that gives us a reason for his missing face,” Lydia counters. “Maybe it’s not about his job. Maybe it’s about something else.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to answer that until we know what they’re using the body parts for,” Allison says. “Whatever this ritual is, they _are_ relevant.”

“It does kind of sound like they’re building a body,” Isaac mutters.

Scott is noticeably quiet, a troubled expression on his face. Lydia nudges his arm and he startles a little, having forgotten that the rest of the pack is there.

“Everything okay?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, sorry,” he rubs a hand over his face. “Just tired. We keep going round in circles with this. I keep hoping someone’s gonna say something and it’ll be like… I don’t know but we’ll figure something out that will help us _do_ something.” He shakes his head. “It just feels like we’re missing this important detail, the thing that ties it all together. We never did have a twelfth disappearance. Why?”

Another piece of the puzzle that they’re missing. These witches are methodical and ritualistic and yet they keep changing the pattern. The pieces of information that don’t fit are exactly the pieces they need to complete the puzzle, if only they could figure them out.

No one really has an answer to his question, partly because the knowledge of the missing disappearance had slipped their minds; and partly because they’ve been so focused on the deaths these last few days.

Lydia clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “We didn’t just ask you here because of the body,” she says to Allison and Isaac. She looks apprehensive.

“There was a foreign scent in the woods,” Derek speaks up again. “The reason I found the body is because I was tracking it through the Preserve. Something was there earlier, something I don’t think we’ve ever encountered before.”

“Any idea what?” Allison asks quietly.

“No,” Lydia answers. “But it triggered the warding so it’s definitely supernatural.”

“More ghouls?” Isaac suggests but Derek shakes his head.

“Didn’t smell like ghouls.”

“Great.”

“What’s the plan?” Allison directs the question to Scott, who looks more tired every time they open their mouths. The sacrifices are really weighing on him and now there’s more unknown creatures in the woods that could be hostile.

“Tomorrow,” he says after a moment’s thought. “We can meet up at the pack house and investigate the scent. I’d go today but I…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t need to say any more. His packmates instantly understand; he needs to relax today, try and deal with the news and spend some time with Lydia. It’s already been a long week, they can put off the next incident until next week.

“Say no more,” Allison responds firmly. “We’ll be there.”

Isaac nods his agreement, finishing his coffee. The two of them say their goodbyes and head out the door. Derek lingers for a moment longer.

“I’m helping Stiles move into that apartment later,” he says softly, careful of piling too much onto Scott’s plate when he’s already worn out.

Scott doesn’t look particularly bothered by the news at least. “Did he say how long he might be staying?”

“When I offered him the place, he said something about needing a reason to stay. I don’t know why you and his Dad aren’t enough, but other than that, no, he didn’t. But I hope, for you, it will be a while.” Whatever issue he personally has with Stiles, Scott is his friend and his Alpha and he deserves better than being left in Stiles’ dust again. “So I’m gonna head out. I’ll need to be at his house in a couple hours. I’ll see you later.”

Scott waves him goodbye and sits back in his seat, closing his eyes to lose himself in the sounds of his fiancée bustling around their apartment.

*

“There’s nothing in any of these books,” Cora sighs, slamming said book closed and shoving it away from her. “It’s all about nature and Gods and beliefs and whatnot. I’m not finding anything about actual magic rituals. Like, we already know that Druids worship nature: Deaton’s made that perfectly clear over the years.”

Felix has a dozen scribbled notes about triquetras, wormwood and mandrake root; but absolutely nothing that can help them with the sacrifices. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he responds after a moment. “I don’t really think Druids would have willingly given up their secrets to be displayed so publicly. Maybe we should ask an actual Druid.”

“We’ve read through all of Deaton’s books,” Cora points out. “There’s nothing more enlightening in them. All of his rituals are harmless. Or helpful. Nothing like what we’re looking for. If we even know what that is.”

“Well,” Felix hedges slowly, “it’s been recently pointed out that maybe Deaton doesn’t know everything? Perhaps we could try widening our resources. He’s not the only Druid out there.”

Cora makes a disdainful noise. “Feel free to ask Scott about that. He didn’t exactly take too kindly to Deaton’s knowledge being dismissed.”

“Do we have to? Ask him, I mean? Not that I don’t… I mean, I don’t want to do anything to upset him, or the pack, but there isn’t an unspoken rule about asking for help outside the pack, is there?”

Cora shrugs lightly. “Sort of. It’s not a rule, just more like etiquette. Getting help from an outside source should always be permitted by your Alpha, or something like that. Because packs are tight-knit, so it can be seen as a breach of trust if you reveal sensitive information to someone outside of the group without permission.”

“Oh,” Felix’s shoulders slump. “Is that we can’t ask, um, this Stiles for help? Because he seems like he knows things.”

“Partly,” Cora bites her lip. “That’s a bit of a sensitive topic as well. Scott and Stiles have, well, issues right now.”

“What’s the story with that anyway?”

Cora debates whether or not to tell him. Neither Felix nor Sammi or David know the story behind Stiles. It had always been one of those things that they didn’t talk about: it upset Scott too much, plus Derek and Jennifer didn’t like hearing about it. By the time everyone else had joined the pack, the topic was just widely agreed to be off-limits.

But that had been before Stiles had returned. Now that he’s back, it doesn’t seem right to keep their newer members in the dark.

“Let’s go grab a coffee,” she says, standing up. “My head is swimming right now.”

Felix shuffles the books into a pile, before quickly following her. Their relationship is tentatively moving into newer ground: going for coffees and walks and spending a little bit more time with each other outside of pack business.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” she says as they start walking together, the cool air of the evening chilling her nose. “Twelve years ago, we were in the middle of a similar situation. Someone was sacrificing people in Beacon Hills and we were stuck, trying to figure out who and why and how to stop them.”

“The Darach, right?” Felix guesses, because they’ve heard about this here and there over the years; never in detail, but they know the name.

Cora scowls. “Yeah, whoever that bitch is. No one ever saw their actual face, only the scarred monstrosity; and even then it was only a couple of us. We never found out who they really were, and so they got away with their stupid little ritual.”

“Do you think they could be responsible for these deaths?”

She shrugs again. “It’s hard to say without know what the ritual is. Last time it was some kind of strength thing. They had a beef with the Alpha Pack, wanted to bring them down. So they sacrificed a bunch of people in a power-grabbing ritual.”

“So what did, um, Stiles do back then?”

“So Stiles had all these suspicions about who the Darach was. I think he even accused Deaton at one point. But it wasn’t until his Dad was taken… that’s when he accused Jennifer. Jennifer was new to teaching at the school, so her timing was probably a little coincidental. And it might have been a valid suspicion, except Jennifer was dating Derek at that point. And Stiles, well, you’d have had to have been _blind_ to miss the crush he had.”

“On Jennifer?” Felix scrunches his face in confusion.

“On Derek,” Cora clarifies. “Even Scott thought he was just jealous, albeit he was probably less obvious about it than the rest of us. Stiles was adamant that Jennifer was evil. Even after his Dad was safe and the Alpha Pack was dealt with, he just kept bringing it up. There were a few arguments, some of them got pretty bad. Derek would get really angry. And then we woke up one morning and he was just… gone. Left without a word, or anything. Never heard from him again. Until now, at least.”

Felix absorbs this as they walk. He’d always known that the Darach and their high school years were off-limits for the most part; Scott hates it being brought up and now it makes more sense why Derek gets so… protective of Jennifer. He imagines it can’t have been easy to have someone you thought was a friend turn around and throw out those kinds of accusations. And for Stiles to just vanish the way he did, just abandoning Scott – who is supposed to have been his best friend – like _that_? He feels a surge of anger on behalf of his Alpha.

“Well, then Scott’s probably better off without him,” he says vehemently. “Scott’s the best person I’ve ever known and he’s a great Alpha. I would never abandon him like that. Especially not over being mad about a crush. That’s just selfish.”

“Maybe,” Cora responds noncommittally. She looks a little distant, as he glances at her in surprise. “Maybe he had a right to be.”

“What are you talking about? He accused Jennifer of being evil, because he was upset over Derek? And then he left because no one would listen to him? How petty can you get?”

Cora presses her lips together then lets out a sigh. “You didn’t hear this from me either, okay? Everyone is going around talking about how Scott has a right to be angry and upset and all that. But I think Stiles did too back then.”

“Because he had a crush?”

“Look,” Cora puts a hand out to stop him. “Stiles’ feelings weren’t exactly unfounded, okay? He and Derek spent a lot of time together that summer, looking for,” she cuts herself off; all these years and she still can’t say their names. “Looking for the Alpha Pack. They were close. A lot closer than I think anyone realized. And then Jennifer came into the picture and, well, I wouldn’t blame Stiles if he felt… left out. It was a trying time for all of us.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to treat her that way,” Felix points out. “We’ve known Jennifer for years, she’s not a bad person.”

“I know,” she responds, sounding somewhat troubled. “And I’m sure Stiles doesn’t think she’s evil anymore. It’s just a sensitive topic, because no one ever really got over it.”

Felix just shrugs. He’d thought Stiles had been kind of interesting with his magic, even if he had used it to blow up all the lights in Scott’s house. But now he’s not so sure. Scott is his Alpha and after everything he went through to protect Felix, Felix would be the first to step between him and danger. If the danger ends up being Stiles hurting him or bringing up bad memories, it makes no difference.

“Hey,” Cora pulls him from his thoughts. “All of that was twelve years ago. Stiles is a different person now. We all are. So don’t get caught up in that stuff. Scott and Stiles and Derek and Jennifer will all work out their issues and things will get better. At least, where the pack is concerned, I mean.”

He nods. “Yeah, I guess. I just… can we trust Stiles? This time?”

Cora hesitates. “I’d like to think so. I know he’d never do anything to hurt Scott. Intentionally,” she adds at Felix’s look. “But let’s not worry about this right now. As I recall, you were going to buy me coffee.”

She reaches to entwine their fingers together and Felix smiles brightly, blushing faintly in the dim light of the evening sunset. All thoughts of Stiles and even Scott are put out of his mind as they head down to the road to their favourite café.

*

“Are you sure about this, Stiles?” Noah asks, not worried, just wanting to be sure that Stiles is making the right decision.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Stiles sighs fondly; this isn’t the first time he’s been asked.

“I just don’t want you thinking you can’t stay with me,” Noah responds. “I don’t mind, your room is still there after all.”

“I know, I just… If I can’t live on my own at 30, then I’ll never be independent.” Which is mostly true. The rest of it is just wanting to protect his Dad, in case any unwanted nightmares show up at his door. “I really don’t mind. I’ve been living on my own for almost twelve years by now. I can handle a few months in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles drops his backpack onto the floor of what is now his bedroom. It’s a small apartment, equipped with just the essentials and a nice view of downtown Beacon Hills, with the edge of the Preserve just behind it.

“Is that everything you have?” Derek asks from the doorway. Stiles shrugs.

“Everything I need. There’s a couple of bigger things in my food truck I could probably move up here but that can be done another time, they’re not important.”

Twelve years of his life packed into a suitcase and a backpack. It’d almost be depressing if it weren’t intentional.

“Do you need any more furniture? I might have some spare shelves in storage.”

“Nah. I don’t plan on actually unpacking. I’d probably forget where I put everything if I did. Twelve years, you get used to living out of your suitcase.”

He turns to look at the older ‘wolf in the doorway. Derek’s face is carefully neutral and Stiles easily mirrors the expression.

“Do you need food or anything like that?” Noah asks, inspecting the other rooms. There’s a small bathroom adjoined to his bedroom, and then the kitchen and lounge are one whole room. It’s not a bad place, and Derek’s renting it to him surprisingly cheap.

“Dad, I’ll be fine,” Stiles all but whines. “I can take care of myself, you know. Twelve years and all that. I should be worrying about you. You _are_ getting on a bit in life.”

Noah frowns at him in mock-annoyance but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “Enough of the old man routine. There’s still plenty of life left in these bones, thank you very much.”

“Not if you keep eating those hamburgers,” Stiles responds pointedly but he laughs good-naturedly. “I’ll be fine. I have enough to survive the rest of the day and then I can go shopping tomorrow to fill the cupboards. I do know how to do that stuff.”

“If you’re sure,” Noah says, but he relents, glancing at his watch. “I gotta go, son. I have an early shift tomorrow. Have fun with your apartment, and let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, but I won’t,” Stiles shoos him out the door. He expects Derek to follow his Dad, but the man remains lounging in the doorway, just observing him.

Fair enough then. He’s not going to get in the way of Stiles, as he digs into his backpack for his magic supplies. Mountain ash, a pen, a few of those charm bags, and his grimoire.

A thin line of mountain ash across the windows, as is standard in all of his homes over the years. The charm bags at the four points of the compass around the room; slightly less standard, but used frequently all the same.

What he doesn’t normally do is ward the windows and doors. He draws a series of sigils at the corners of the doorframes, and around the windows. These will help protect him against any unwanted nightmares turning up on his doorstep. Hopefully, they’ll stop the nightmares from even finding him in the first place.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, sounding torn between curiosity and annoyance.

“Warding the apartment.”

“Why?”

“Because this is supposed to be a safe place for me to sleep and I’d sleep better if it was actually, y’know, safe.”

“Safe from what? It’s not like there’s anything in town other than my Pack and we’re hardly a threat to you.” Stiles doesn’t know about the strange scent in the woods and if Derek has his way, he never will.

“Can you say that for sure?” Stiles asks slowly, drawing a particularly delicate sigil. “No offense, but you guys aren’t exactly the most observant. There’s more in Beacon Hills than you probably realize.”

Derek frowns. “What are you talking about? We’re ‘wolves, Stiles, if there was something else, we’d be able to smell it.”

Stiles shrugs, standing to face him. “Not everything is detectable. Some people hide who they are to avoid trouble. Beacon Hills is a beacon for the supernatural. There are a couple of things capable of slipping through your defences.”

“Like you, you mean?”

“Not really. That was intentional on my part. I’m talking about the creatures who live here that you can’t detect. Lydia’s not the only Banshee. There’s a kitsune working in one of the cafés. That nightclub, _Aurora_, has golem as a bouncer. And let’s not forget the phoenix that works as a doctor.”

“The mythical firebird?” Derek sounds disbelieving.

“Well, that’s one of their forms, yes. But they are perfectly capable of passing as human. This is beside the point anyway. I’m sure there’s nothing particularly threatening in Beacon Hills right _now_,” a blatant lie, not that Derek can hear it, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take preventative measures for when something _does_ come.”

Because it will come. Stiles doesn’t doubt that.

“Just make sure you wash it off before you leave,” Derek mutters.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles waves dismissively. “Thanks for helping me move in, by the way. Although I’m not sure I needed the help since all I have is a suitcase and a bed. But thanks anyway. And for letting me have the place. It’s… nice.”

“I did it for Scott,” Derek says almost automatically.

“So you’ve said,” Stiles responds with a bitter edge, causing Derek to raise an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “If that’s all you came for?”

“Why does _Aurora_ have a golem as their bouncer?”

“I dunno, I guess the owner or someone has Jewish ancestry? I haven’t exactly stopped in and asked, I just noticed it a few nights ago.”

“How can you tell?” Derek asks hesitantly. “When we can’t?”

“Because you look for physical clues. Like their scent. Which can be changed or hidden, if they even have any in the first place. My abilities go deeper than that, it comes with the territory of being a witch. Can’t change or hide your soul. I can even tell that you’re a born wolf.”

Derek looks unimpressed. “You already knew I was a born wolf.”

“Yeah, but my point is that if I didn’t, then I would still be able to tell. Like how I can tell when it’s going to rain or that Allison doesn’t have any magic or if someone’s human or not. It’s all part of my abilities.”

He finishes up with the last sigil, mutters a few words and activates the warding. Each sigil around the room lights up for a few seconds and he can almost feel them falling into place around him. He breathes easier, just knowing that they’re there.

“You alright?” Derek asks curiously. Stiles seems a little on edge right now, he thinks. More so than he’s been the other times they’ve spoken with each other. He’s not sure why he cares enough to notice but it’s hard to miss the way the witch keeps glancing around the apartment, fiddling with his red hoodie, just generally exuding nervous energy.

“Yeah. Just… tired,” which isn’t necessarily a lie. “Plus, twelve years and it’s still strange, sleeping in a new apartment the first night.”

Derek nods, like he understands. “Well, I’ve gotta go. Try not to burn my building down or anything once I’m gone.”

“I’m offended at the insinuation,” Stiles says. “I’m gonna be a model tenant. The most model tenant you’ve ever had. Do you even have other tenants?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Derek responds, moving for the door. “See you around, Stiles.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles waves absently at the door, already turning to deal with his new bed, currently in pieces in the middle of his bedroom.

It’ll hopefully tire him out enough to take his mind off any nightmares he might have.

*

“Where have you been?”

Derek closes the door behind him, tugging off his jacket. He looks up at the sound of Jennifer’s voice: it’s underlined with anger.

“Is everything okay?”

She folds her arms across her chest, frowning at him. “Where were you?”

“I was helping Stiles move into an apartment. Since he’s renting from me, I wanted to make sure everything was okay with the arrangement. I might have taken a little longer than expected but I’m not that late, am I?”

“Late? I waited for you for over an hour, Derek!” she snaps. “I looked like a fool at the restaurant. That stupid waitress looked so pitying. I was humiliated!”

He blinks, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. “Restaurant?”

“For our date!” she shouts suddenly, throwing her hands up. “Remember? We were supposed to have dinner tonight. It’s been planned for three weeks now. And then you stood me up,” she crumples somewhat, looking upset. “You couldn’t even be bothered to text me to say you weren’t going to be there.”

Derek frowns in confusion. That date had been this week? He’s sure they’d agreed to go out next week. “But I did tell you. This morning, before I went out for my jog. I told you I was checking up on Stiles’ move. Didn’t I?”

She shakes her head. “You never told me anything about this. I got all dressed up and everything because I thought you were going to be there.”

She is wearing one of her favourite dresses, soft and glittery in the light. Her make-up, albeit a little streaked now, is decidedly glamorous; expected of a night out with her boyfriend.

Derek swallows hard. He must have thought to tell her and then forgotten, and gotten confused about it. He would never skip a date with Jennifer, not intentionally. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I would never intentionally stand you up, I swear. I thought I’d told you, but I should have texted you just to be sure. I’ll do that next time.”

“Next time?” she echoes and the anger comes back. “I’d hope there wouldn’t _be_ a next time but clearly I’m not a priority for you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he starts to say, but she shakes her head.

“I’m going home. I can’t be here.”

“Jen, you don’t need to leave,” he reaches for her hand. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t call me Jen,” and that’s how he knows she’s really mad. “Look, you forgot about our date, Derek. You stood me up! Do you have any idea how that felt? And I don’t think I can deal with that right now. So I’m going to go home and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

Derek says nothing, just steps aside to let her through. He feels sure he’d told her this morning but if she’d known he wasn’t gonna be there, she wouldn’t have gotten all dressed up like that. How could he have been so stupid? He should have made sure.

The door slams behind Jennifer and he flinches at the sound. He hates it when she’s mad, she always seems so cold and distant. But he hates it more that he’s the reason she’s so upset. If only he’d told her!

The apartment always seems so empty when she’s not here but he only has himself to blame for the silence and the darkness.

*

Stiles flops back onto his bed, freshly built. He’s tired, but it’s a good kind of tired for now. He could fall asleep right now, if it hadn’t been for how uncomfortable his position is.

Before he can shift though, his phone starts chiming with a familiar ringtone. He fumbles for it, a smile spreading across his face when he sees who’s calling; which quickly turns to a frown when he realizes it’s gotta be the middle of the night for his caller.

A quick tap of the answer button and he lounges across his bed, smiling at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Hey, Jax. I’m good, thanks. Just chilling in my new apartment. Isn’t it, like, the middle of the night for you?”

‘Jax’ mumbles a reply along the lines of being unable to sleep, because he’d been out late on a date, and that he’d wanted to check up on Stiles.

“Everything’s going about as well as can be expected,” Stiles shrugs before grinning at the important piece of news. “So you met someone, did you? Tell me about them.”

The day slips away into night as Stiles chats away to ‘Jax’, the comfort of a familiar friendship being just what he needs to ease the tension in his back.

He can sleep later, probably.

*

**April;**  
**11 years ago.**

_“Stiles,” Elle sits across the table from him, “today we reach the end of your training.”_

_“We do?” he looks up. “But I thought we still had books to go through. There’s, like, a whole shelf I’ve never even looked at.”_

_Elle smiles. “There are plenty of things I can share with you. And you do still have much more to learn about your abilities. But there is nothing more **I** can teach you. It is time for you to move on to your next teacher. There is just one last thing.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“Consider it a test of your abilities. You picked up spellcraft rather quickly and I have no doubt that you’ll be capable of great things. You are a talented witch.”_

_“So what do I have to do? It’s not a written exam or something, is it?”_

_“No, nothing so tedious. Just a simple test of your abilities that encompasses everything I have taught you over the last few months.” She stands up and gestures for him to follow her through to her alchemy laboratory. “You have learned about alchemy. You have learned about ingredients and potions. You have learned how to cast spells and how to cast warding. Now you must put all of that knowledge together to create your very first sigil.”_

_Every witch has their own book of sigils. Elle had allowed Stiles to take a look through hers, although only once. It’s something of a rite of passage to make your first one._

_“Any particular kind?” he asks, already running through a dozen possibilities in his head._

_“Well, it’s **your** first sigil. Is there any you would like to make?”_

_Traditional sigils come from the Druids, much like spellcraft as a whole. They’re mostly for protection, warding buildings or territories. They can keep people, or things, out – or in, if that’s the intention – or they can allow for an early warning system, if the caster is tuned into them. They have a few other uses but they tend to be pretty straightforward._

_Witch sigils tend to be more creative and complex. Witches have been experimenting with magic since the very beginning, and even now no two spells are exactly the same. Traditional sigils are a good starting point but it had been a very innovative witch to uncover the ability to make their own._

_From his brief glance through Elle’s book, he remembers seeing sigils for healing, sigils for sleep and peaceful dreams, sigils for protection. Elle is a very caring person and it shows through her magic more than anything._

_“I mean, I was thinking about a sigil that would protect my grimoire. In case someone got nosy and found out things they weren’t supposed to? Or a sigil to help me sleep through my travels. Or one to keep me warm all the time? Because Norway gets cold in winter.”_

_“Perhaps pick the one you think you’ll get the most use out of first? Which sigil do you think would be a priority?”_

_“Probably the cold one,” Stiles says. “Sleep is for the weak and I don’t have any warmer clothes right now.”_

_Elle smiles. “You have complete access to my workroom,” she says, gesturing around it. “All the ingredients you will need are in the cupboards. I will give you until dinner to create your sigil and then we will see how well you have done.”_

_Stiles nods his agreement and Elle sweeps back out the door, wishing him luck. A rite of passage it may be, but it is somewhat nerve-wracking to be making his first sigil on his own, with no help in case he forgets something or makes a mistake._

_Sigilwork is the more advanced form of spellcraft. Rather than simply mixing the ingredients and casting the spell over and over, you can create a spell and use it to power a sigil, so that whenever the sigil is cast, it replicates the effects of the spell. Spellcraft – and by extension, sigils – is a powerful tool: while spells can do pretty much anything a witch’s magic can, the advantage lies in being able to do things that natural magic can’t: such as enchanting a piece of clothing to keep a wearer warm, for example._

_Sigilwork is a three-step process: design the sigil; create the spell; use the incantation to power the sigil with the spell._

_The options are just shy of limitless, because that’s the beauty of being a witch: the experimentation. And the only tricky part is the spell itself: figuring out the ingredients and the method to make it. Even the sigil design itself can be as simple or as complex as the caster wants; it’s all up to the individual witch._

_The **small** downside to sigilwork is that it does tend to fall into the void of a ‘magical inconsistency’, which tries his curiosity, because if there’s one thing that Stiles likes, it’s knowing how things work. Something he’ll probably have to get used to as time goes on; the supernatural world is full of such inconsistencies._

_Stiles takes a few minutes to browse through the ingredients and reread his notes; he knows his stuff pretty well by now but this is a rite of passage: if he makes a mistake with his first sigil, he’ll never live it down. Especially since Elle will be judging his efforts and this is where she specializes her magic._

_This is his time to make her proud._

*

**April 22nd.**

It’s a small group Scott leads through the woods as they investigate the foreign scent Derek had picked up.

It’s hard, navigating their supernatural lives with their regular ones. Most of the pack is at work right now, as is expected of a Monday afternoon. Scott has the day off, so does Allison. Isaac, with the Sheriff’s knowledge, and Lydia, being self-employed, managed to grab a few hours within their schedules to help. And David works mornings on a Monday because he’s weird like that.

But they’re down some of their stronger wolves. Derek being the obvious choice, but either of the twins; both of them preferably. Sammi has a great sense of smell that would definitely be welcomed right now.

But it’s just the five of them, trekking between the trees.

Whatever left the scent trail only took one path through the Preserve. There’s no need to split up and follow a dozen different trails this time, and there’s no backtracking or winding round in circles. Whoever this is, they knew exactly where they were going.

“I’ve never smelled this scent before,” Isaac says, wrinkling his nose a little. The scent is… weird. It’s a kind of metallic smell that gets stuck in the back of your throat. It almost smells like blood, but at the same time it doesn’t.

“Do we have any idea what we might be running into here?” Allison asks, crouched on the ground to examine the forest floor for any tracks. This creature is not stealthy at all.

“No,” Lydia takes another look around the trees as if she’s expecting something to lunge out from between them. She’s got a funny feeling they’re being watched. “The wards don’t tell me _what_ crosses the border, just that something has.”

“You need better wards then,” a new voice says, startling them all. Stiles stomps through the trees towards them, shoving a few branches out of his way.

“Stiles, what are you doing here?” Scott scrubs a hand over his face. “This is pack business.”

“I was just taking a walk in the woods. It’s not illegal, is it?”

“It is if it’s private property,” Isaac says pointedly.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever. You still need better wards.”

“Deaton doesn’t know any better wards,” Lydia says. “Remember? You offered to teach me how to do the more powerful sigils.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I should probably do that.”

“What are you doing here?” Scott repeats, somewhat stressed. “None of the hiking trails or walking paths come through here.”

“Oh, I don’t follow those,” Stiles waves his hand. “I let the trees guide me and apparently they decided to guide me to you. It seems you’re looking for the same thing I am.”

“What we’re looking for is pack-related, and has nothing to do with you,” Scott frowns sternly at his old friend. “You need to stay out of this.”

“Besides, it’s probably just more ghouls, and you hate those,” Isaac pipes up; it’s not ghouls but Stiles doesn’t need to know that. “We can handle it fine.”

“It’s not ghouls,” Stiles’ voice takes on a hard edge. “It’s something worse.”

Scott opens his mouth to question his answer but that’s when all three wolves perk to attention at the sound of a twig breaking. There’s increasing movement on the other side of a cluster of trees and the blood-but-not-blood smell floods the air. Whoever breached the warding is coming towards them.

Scott’s already moving to intercept the creature; or perhaps group, since that’s what it sounds like. Definitely more than one set of footsteps.

Isaac falls in behind him and Lydia’s on his other side. David takes up the rear, while Allison approaches from the side, bow in hand just in case.

The trees open out into a clearing; and on the other side, a group of three people stumbling through the undergrowth. They come to a sudden stop when they see Scott and his pack.

The man leading the group is pale with dark, shadowed eyes that widen when they land on the werewolves in front of him. He has two female companions right behind him: one has dirty blonde hair, with the same dark eyes and pale skin. Her mouth is twisted up into a scowl. Both of them are passable as human. The other girl is young, deathly pale and thin, with long dark hair and bruises lining her arms and neck. Her eyes are blood red and bruised, and she snarls at them, baring her sharp teeth. The man has a firm grip on her arm.

“What are they?” David asks in hushed tones.

Lydia answers him, her shoulders tense and her voice grim. “Vampires.”

At her answer, all three werewolves shift immediately, bearing claws and fangs. Allison draws an arrow and aims at the male vampire, but they all wait for Scott’s signal. They never attack first, but vampires are well-known to be aggressive; they hate other creatures and usually hate each other as well – a fight is always expected where vampires are concerned.

The male vampire raises his hands in surrender, dropping his grip on the girl. “Please. We need your help.”

Or not.

“Why should we help you?” Scott growls through his fangs. “You’re vampires.”

“Look,” the vampire’s voice shakes a little, taking a step back, “we know what people say about us. But we didn’t come here to hurt anyone, I swear. We need help. Our family, they were attacked by hunters. We have nowhere to go.”

“Again, why should we help you?”

“Because we know who you are. We’ve heard your reputation. Vampires don’t get the best rap, I know, but neither do werewolves. But you never turn away someone in need and we are in need. My family, we just need help.”

Scott hesitates for a moment. This… _vampire_ does make a good point. Werewolves are still hunted simply for existing; and Scott does lead his pack with compassion. If someone needs help, they try their best to provide it.

And the vampires haven’t exactly attacked them yet. They could be trying to lure them into a false sense of security, but that doesn’t quite match up with what they know about vampires. They’re supposed to be instinct-driven, not tricksters.

The vampire takes a step forward as if sensing Scott’s hesitation. “If we were going to attack you, wouldn’t we have done so already? We just need some place safe to stay, until we can recover. We have injured who need tending to, and we haven’t slept in days. Those hunters, they tore our family apart. Please.”

The pale vampire snarls at the mention of hunters.

And that’s when Stiles breaks through the treeline into the clearing.

All three vampires snap to look at him. He freezes up under their scrutiny, his heartbeat ratcheting up in anxiety. He knows these vampires. He knows who they are and he knows why they are here.

He wishes he’d brought his stake.

The male vampire narrows his eyes at the sight of the witch, and the dirty blonde twists her face into a sneer. The pale vampire sniffs the air, as if trying to scent him; her eyes start glowing, baring her fangs once more. She can smell something in the air, something that piques her hunger: the problem is, it’s not Stiles.

Vampires are fast, but Stiles is closer and he _knows_ what she’s going to do right before she does it.

The vampire lunges across the clearing, a pale blur of predator, her sights sharpening in on the Argent huntress. Allison barely has a chance to register the incoming threat before Stiles is crashing her, knocking her to the ground and out of the vampire’s path.

The vampire shrieks, grasping at the empty air where her prey had just been. Except it’s not quite empty, as she latches onto Stiles’ flailing arm, her claws raking down his skin. He shouts in pain and the potent smell of blood and magic floods the clearing.

Barely wasting a second to register the wound, Stiles uses his own blood to draw a sigil on Allison’s forehead. It glows as it activates and then Allison vanishes from the clearing in the blink of an eye. Stiles thuds to the ground and then rolls out of the way as the pale vampire attacks again.

Isaac lunges for the pale vampire, but the male vampire intervenes, grabbing the pale vampire and shoving her out the way. Isaac lands on him and they roll across the forest floor, each one fighting for control. Isaac wins, pinning the vampire down, claws pressing into his throat.

The blonde vampire grabs the pale one, right as David plants himself between them and the rest of his pack, growling lowly to keep them pinned away from their fellow vampire. The pale vampire snarls against her captor; she can smell blood on the air and she wants it.

Stiles scrambles to his feet, backing quickly away from the entire scene. Blood is dripping down his arm and he quickly clamps down on the claw wounds. His hoodie is supposed to prevent injuries like this but the way he’d been grabbed, the vampire’s claws had slipped under the cuff of his sleeve. His heart is thudding in his ears, and he may or may not be on the verge of a panic attack, because all the vampires can smell his blood right now, and that includes the ones that aren’t in this clearing.

Scott lets out an Alpha roar across the clearing and everyone, even the vampires, fall quiet and still. He stalks towards where Isaac has the male vampire pinned.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t let him rip you apart,” he snarls at the vampire, his eyes flashing Alpha red in threat.

“Please,” the vampire coughs under Isaac’s grip, struggling for air, “please, I swear, we didn’t come here to fight.”

“Didn’t you?” Isaac snarls. “Is that why you just attacked us?”

“You have to understand, Casey is traumatized. She’s hungry and tired and she just watched her family get murdered in front of her. Your friend smells like a hunter, she was just trying to protect us. I’m sorry, I should have stopped her.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Isaac snaps, but Scott places a hand on his shoulder.

“You came here for help?” he asks. It still sounds like a threat between his fangs but the vampire on the ground nods.

“Yes.”

Scott indicates for Isaac to let up. The vampire coughs as air rushes into his lungs.

“Thank you,” he stumbles to his feet.

“I have some experience with traumatized pack members,” Scott says, slowly. “I am willing to help you. As long as that never happens again.”

“I swear,” the vampire repeats. “Casey just needs time.” He glances over his shoulder at his two companions; David backs off of them at Scott’s indication. “My name is Felipe. This is Fran. We have a few more members camped out in the woods; we were supposed to be finding food for them. Animals,” he adds hastily at Scott’s look. “We can drink from animals.”

Scott narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Vampires can survive on animal blood?”

“It’s not… preferred but it’s acceptable,” Felipe answers, his gaze straying across the group. He lingers on Stiles, who scowls back. “If you want, we can take you to meet the nest? I’m sure they’d be very grateful for your help.”

Scott checks out the people behind him. Isaac has turned his frustration on Stiles, glaring at him, torn between anger and worry; and Stiles is cradling his still-bleeding arm that should really be seen to. “No,” he decides. “But there are areas of neutral territory we can arrange a meeting for. Tomorrow would be best, I’d like to meet your… nest as soon as possible.”

Felipe nods and the two of them quickly work out the details; there’s a factory on the edge of town that’s good for neutral territory. And if it’s later in the day, they can enlist Derek and some of the other wolves as back-up.

Just because Scott is willing to help these vampires doesn’t mean he trusts them. Vampires still have a dangerous reputation, after all.

“Hey, you okay?” Stiles flinches when David touches his shoulder; he’d been so busy keeping both eyes on the vampires, he’d almost forgotten the rest of the pack is there.

“Fine, thanks,” he manages to choke out, finally looking away from the scene in front of him. Isaac grabs him by his uninjured elbow and drags him off to the side.

“What did you do to my girlfriend?” he hisses furiously.

“She’s fine, she’s at the pack house,” Stiles mutters, unperturbed by his attitude. Isaac is definitely the lesser of the immediate threats in the area.

“Why?”

“You’ll thank me later.”

Isaac looks even angrier, if that’s possible, but before he can say anything, Scott cuts back into the conversation. “Let’s go. That means you too,” he gives Stiles a hard look. “What happened to Allison?”

“She’s at the pack house,” Stiles repeats, in complete agreement to get out of the woods and away from the vampires. He doesn’t necessarily relax as they retreat from the clearing, but at least he doesn’t have to look at them anymore.

“What exactly did you do? Why is she there?”

“Would you rather I let her get eaten? Just be glad I did anything at all.”

Isaac growls under his breath, but Stiles ignores him, already moving back through the trees. Scott lets out a frustrated sigh but gestures for his pack to follow.

It’s a quiet walk back to the pack house. Stiles is out in front, apparently trying to escape the trees as fast as possible. He’s leaving a scent of blood in his wake, and it hits Scott how weird it is that this is the first time he’s been able to smell his magic. In fact, in hindsight, Scott hadn’t even known he was a witch until Stiles had told him. Any other magic users they’ve met, the scent of magic has been potent. But Stiles is… hiding his somehow?

Isaac fumes all the way back to the pack house. It’s surprising to Scott that he hadn’t just sprinted ahead to get to Allison, but he figures Isaac wants to keep an eye on Stiles. Whatever the witch had done back there, Isaac clearly doesn’t trust him right now.

They can see the pack house through the trees before they actually reach it. Stiles seems to let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing from tension Scott hadn’t noticed. Now Isaac speeds up and runs for the house. When Scott scents the air, he can smell Allison, so clearly Stiles hadn’t been lying about sending her here.

But how? And why the pack house?

Allison is in the dining room, looking thoroughly confused when Isaac reaches her. He pulls her into a tight hug, burying his face into her neck, making sure she’s okay.

Stiles is a few seconds behind him, closing the dining room door, and warding it with his soundproofing sigil. Isaac clings to Allison for a few more seconds before whirling on him and slamming him against the door. Stiles winces in pain; his wrist is still bleeding.

“What the fuck did you do?” Isaac snarls.

“You can thank me any time, you know?” Stiles mutters in response.

“Stiles,” Allison warns. “What did you do?”

“I teleported you, duh,” he rolls his eyes but there’s a tiny shake in his voice. “And you’re welcome. If I had been a second slower, you would have made for a tasty snack.”

“It’s not fucking funny,” Isaac slams him against the door again.

“I’m not fucking laughing,” Stiles snaps, as Allison gets her boyfriend to let him go. “Look, that was a darkblood vampire, okay? Their sense of smell is stronger than even a werewolf’s. Your little drink doesn’t work on them.”

“You mean?” Allison’s hands instinctively cradle her stomach.

“Yeah. They could smell your condition. And let me tell you, there are few things tastier to a vampire than the blood of an expectant mother.”

Isaac’s fury dissipates into fear, his eyes widening as he pulls Allison close to him. She looks stricken, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What do I do?”

“Nothing,” Stiles straightens up, smoothing down his rumpled hoodie. “You’re in luck. There just so happens to be something in this town more appealing than a pregnant Argent.”

“What?” Isaac narrows his eyes.

Stiles’ mouth turns down, his eyes steely. “Me.”

*

“Bait?” Scott echoes. “What are you talking about, Stiles?”

Most of the pack has turned up at the pack house by now. Stiles keeps scratching absently at the gauze on his arm; his skin tingles underneath as it knits itself back together. He has a few effective healing elixirs in his back pocket.

“If you’re going up against these vampires, you’re gonna need something really good to draw them all out. That’s me.” He throws his arms wide.

“Draw them out? Stiles, we’re not going to kill them. They need our help. So we’re gonna help them. Let them stay for the moment. They don’t seem that bad, so they’re worth the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they could even be valuable allies.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Stiles stares at him like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You can’t negotiate with them.”

“Scott, maybe he’s right,” Lydia says carefully. “You’ve read Deaton’s material. Vampires are considered aggressive and dangerous. Do we really wanna ally ourselves with that? After all, they did attack Allison.”

“Okay, first of all, your books are so ridiculously outdated, even _I’m_ offended,” Stiles scoffs before Scott can respond. “And second of all, that’s not my point.”

“You can’t dismiss Deaton’s knowledge in one breath and then tells us the exact same thing in the next and expect us to believe you,” Scott snaps. “That’s not how this works. These vampires need help, so we’re going to help them. No matter what you _or_ Deaton’s books say.”

“Scott, please,” Stiles pleads. “You can’t trust these guys. You can’t negotiate with them. I am telling you, these guys aren’t friendly.”

“Why, because they’re vampires? How come it’s not outdated information when you’re the one giving it?”

“No, because they’re _dangerous_. These guys aren’t like other vampires, okay? Their nest is known all over the East coast. They’re the kind of people who believe vampires should rule the world. They look down on people, they treat them like _slaves_. They hunt for sport and kill for fun and they string people up in cages, and use them as long-term food sources. They–they target witches because they believe magic blood makes them stronger. You can’t negotiate with them, they’ll just kill you. Or worse.”

“You can’t trust rumours like that,” Scott argues. “Those are the same kind of rumours that cost Derek his family, that cost these vampires their _home_, Stiles. They need our help, who are we to deny them that? We’re not killing them, that’s final.”

Fury bubbles up uncontrollably in Stiles; his magic prickles at his fingertips. “This is exactly why I left in the _first place_!” he explodes as Scott starts to turn away. “Here I am, trying to tell you something’s _dangerous_ and you’re _NOT LISTENING!_”

Scott whirls back around, matching anger for anger. “That’s what this is about!? It’s been _twelve years_, Stiles, you need to let go of your petty grievances. We’re not kids anymore.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Stiles’ voice takes on a dangerous tone. “I am _trying_ to protect you, if you would just shut up and–” 

“_I don’t need your protection!_” Scott roars, cutting him off. “You shouldn’t even be here. You are not a part of this pack, you made that perfectly clear when you _abandoned_ us twelve years ago. You don’t get to waltz back in here and act like some kind of _authority_. This is my territory, _I’m the Alpha!_”

The whole room is quiet after he finishes. Stiles’ hands are clenched into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. His face is twisted with a tight fury as he stares Scott down.

Scott’s eyes are glowing red and he knows his claws are out again. Stiles is acting so selfish right now, there’s a part of him that wonders why they were ever friends in the first place. Stiles doesn’t have any kind of say on this matter. Scott’s pack, Scott’s territory, Scott’s rules.

Derek’s hand on his shoulder cuts straight through his anger, and he suddenly remembers there are other people in the room.

“Stiles,” Derek says, gently like Stiles is a spooked animal. “What aren’t you telling us?”

That brings Scott back down to Earth. What is Derek talking about? Is Stiles trying to tell him something? Is that what he meant by Scott not listening?

“I told you everything you needed to know,” Stiles says sullenly, staring at the ground. “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.

“Scott,” Lydia’s voice is soft on his other side as she tugs him towards her. They’re in a room full of werewolves, but she still lowers her voice for the illusion of privacy. “I know you’re upset and you have every right to be, but you need to realize that Stiles isn’t trying to argue with you right now.”

“But–”

“Look at him,” she says firmly. “He’s not angry, Scott, he’s _scared_.”

Scott does look at him. And suddenly he can see what he was missing before. The tension in Stiles’ posture; the way he keeps glancing around the room, checking that everyone is exactly where he thinks they are; the way he keeps checking for his exits, standing in a spot that gives him clear access to the windows; the way he fiddles with his sleeves, a knife in one hand that he must have unconsciously reached for, because there’s nothing in this room that would be an immediate threat.

“These vampires scare him,” Lydia continues gently. “He’s fought them before.”

“But I don’t understand,” Scott murmurs, trying to put it together. “He’s fought ghouls before, he wasn’t scared of the ones we fought last week.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think ghouls have ever strung him up in a cage and used him as a long term food source under the illusion that his blood would make them stronger.”

It hits Scott like a ton of bricks. He’d been so invested in the argument, he’d completely barrelled over everything Stiles had said. Capturing people and targeting witches and hunting for sport. They’re not rumours for him, they’re _memories_.

He glances again at Stiles. “You mean…”

“Scott,” and the seriousness in her voice tells him this is the important part, “you’re a pacifist first and I love that about you, I do. But if you don’t listen to Stiles right now, you run the risk of losing him again. And he might not come back a second time.”

His anger slips away completely. He sighs tiredly, and Lydia cradles his cheek gently, pouring every ounce of reassurance through the touch.

He turns back to Stiles, who reluctantly meets his gaze. “Are you sure about them?”

He nods jerkily, only faintly offended by the notion that he’s wrong about these vampires.

“And if we have to use you as… bait, you’re sure they’ll come?”

Another nod. “They came for me.”

He says it so quietly that if he hadn’t been a werewolf, Scott might have missed it completely. “What do you mean?”

Stiles hesitates a little. He doesn’t like talking about this, it had taken him a long time to be… okay with what he’d gone through.

“Talk to us, Stiles,” Scott encourages. “Talk to me.”

“They didn’t come here because they needed help. They didn’t come here to kill you or to ally with you or anything. I don’t know how they found me but they’re here because I am.”

It leaves a bad taste in Scott’s mouth. It’s easy to think that Stiles had been gallivanting around the world, doing whatever he wanted without a care; but right now Scott is forced to confront the reality that learning about the supernatural isn’t a walk in the park. Stiles hasn’t always had it easy either.

“Okay,” he says, coming to a decision. “Then we give them one chance to leave peacefully. No alliance, no help, no negotiation. They get one chance, because _everyone_ deserves a chance. But that’s all they get.”

Stiles looks like he wants to argue but he concedes the point. “You’re the Alpha.”

As much as Scott would like to side with Stiles and entertain the possibility of going in offensively, he has his principles. And even though this is the principle these vampires were attempting to take advantage of, he’s still going to stand by it. One chance to leave peacefully, before resorting to violence.

*

The first thing Stiles does when he gets home is check his warding.

Since his arm is bandaged up and healing, his glamour magic is – mostly – back in effect and the vampires shouldn’t be able to track him back to his house. But it never hurts to be sure.

He’s barely been in for five minutes when someone knocks at the door.

He summons his knife before he realizes it’s Derek on the other side. He relaxes a touch and opens the door. “Hey, uh, everything okay? If you got a noise complaint from one of your non-existent tenants, it’s my non-existent dog’s fault.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It can’t be easy for you, knowing those vampires are in town.”

“It’s not but I’ll survive.” Stiles opens his door wider to invite Derek in. The Alpha hesitates for a second but steps carefully into the apartment.

“Well, they won’t be here long. Either they leave at Scott’s request or we force them out of Beacon Hills.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“They know where I am. I can’t stay here anymore, I’m putting people in danger. Like my Dad. I’ll have to leave once this is done. They’ll come back for me; they’ll _always_ be looking for me.”

“You have the pack to protect you,” Derek points out.

Stiles looks at him seriously. “No, I don’t,” he says honestly.

And Derek can’t bring himself to argue with that without it feeling like a lie.

He watches Stiles twirling his knife through his fingers as he checks the warding around the door. “What did they do to you?”

Stiles chuckles humourlessly. “I think you mean what _didn’t_ they do to me?” At Derek’s prodding look, he sighs and pulls the collar of his hoodie to the side. In the curve of his neck, right where it meets the collarbone, there is a jagged scar. It looks like a vampire bite gone badly, like one of them got too rough or too greedy and ripped into his skin.

And something about the jaggedness of the scar makes him think of the wound getting reopened over and over. Like they’d kept feeding from him.

Like he’d said they had.

“What was it like?”

Stiles has a look on his face like he can’t believe Derek’s asking him these questions. “Torture. That’s what it was like. I was… in a cage. It was small and tight and I couldn’t use my magic because of the bindings in the metal.” He frowns distantly as he remembers. “And the room was always dark. There were no windows, I didn’t know what time it was or what day. They… they barely fed me. I was always cold. I couldn’t move. I–I slept a lot. I don’t remember much, honestly, I was only really awake for, when they…”

“When they fed on you?” Derek guesses gently when Stiles trails off.

“It was excruciating. They… There were so many, I couldn’t keep track. Over and over and over,” he jabs his fingers into his scar with each word. His eyes are blur with unshed tears. “I–I remember screaming. I tried to fight them off… but I couldn’t move my body, I was just… so… tired. And then they’d leave me alone with _him_. He was the worst of them. And I… I was his _favourite_,” he spits the word like it’s poison. “And then they’d shove me back in that cage and in a few hours, it’d start all over again.” He closes his eyes, his tears spilling over.

“The worst…” he chokes out, “the worst part was the others. I was lucky, they kept me alive because I was a witch. Everyone else was just a p-piece of meat. I’d… I’d hear them screaming, even in my dreams. Every time I woke up, it seemed like there was another empty cage. And–And I couldn’t do anything, I was just as helpless as them. All I could do was listen to them dying, over and over and over.”

He chokes out a sob, wrapping his arms around himself. His shoulders shake as he hunches over on himself and all Derek can do is place a hand on his shoulder – the one that _doesn’t_ have the scar – and squeeze comfortingly.

“How long did they have you?” he asks carefully when Stiles starts to calm down, wiping the tears from his face.

“They told me it was six months. Felt like longer. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Not your fault, you didn’t do anything.” Stiles doesn’t move out from under Derek’s hand just yet. The weight of it is grounding him in the present. He uses it to focus and push the memories away. “It was a long time ago. I won’t let them get at me again.”

_No,_ Derek thinks to himself, his wolf mourning in his chest, _neither will we._

*

**August;  
**11 years ago.****

****

_Boyce is a tall, broad-shouldered man who lives up to his name, which apparently means ‘from the woods’. A fitting name for a witch, whose primary magic is earth manipulation._

_He’s not quite as old as Stiles had expected. At first impression, you’d maybe think he is closer in age to Jonusz, who’s a part of Stiles’ mother’s generation of witches, but Boyce only really has 10 years on Stiles._

_It’s probably his voice. He has this deep voice, heavily accented, and the way he talks sometimes comes across as the wise mentor Yoda to Stiles’ Luke Skywalker. But he’s more distant than Stiles’ previous teachers, a bit more apart from the world._

_He seems to prefer the company of his element over people._

_“Your ability with the earth element is very strong,” Boyce says, as they go on their daily walk through a local woodland. It’s really the only time they talk; a few hours each day, where he teaches Stiles how to actually **use** his magic. “Your mother was not an elemental, was she?”_

_“No,” Stiles responds, carefully avoiding an exposed root of a tree. “Elle told me she was an alchemist. She thinks it might be why I picked that up so fast.”_

_Every witch is capable of learning a variety of magical abilities; but they tend to be defined by their strongest ability: for Boyce, that is earth magic. Stiles’ mother and Elle had strong roots in alchemy and spellcasting. Perhaps Jonusz had expected the same of him, and that’s why he’d learned from Elle first. But it seems to be the earth that calls to him._

_Then again, Stiles is also in something of a unique situation, regarding his magic._

_“Tell me, how did you come into your power?”_

_“Uh, I guess it was when I sacrificed myself? My Dad, and some other parents had been kidnapped by a Darach in some kind of ritual, so me and my friends sacrificed ourselves in their place to save them. And also to find the Nemeton.”_

_“And that was your first interaction with magic?”_

_“Well, sort of. Before that, I did a thing with mountain ash, but as an alchemical ingredient, that’s not really indicative of my own magic, y’know?”_

_Boyce makes a thoughtful sound; he seems to be searching for something in particular. “And how did you come to be involved in this world in the first place?”_

_“Uh, that’s a bit of a funny story, actually,” Stiles chuckles. “My Dad’s the Sheriff back home and one night I heard that someone had found a body in the woods. So I dragged my best friend out in the middle of the night to investigate. We got separated and he ended up getting turned into a werewolf.”_

_That catches Boyce’s attention. “A werewolf?”_

_“Yeah, there was a whole mess with a rogue Alpha, running through the town and killing people who were connected to the death of his family. It’s this whole story.”_

_“And he turned your best friend?”_

_“He was trying to rebuild his pack. It’s kind of complicated, I guess? All but four members of the family was murdered by a group of hunters, and one of them was presumed dead for a long time. This rogue Alpha wasn’t an Alpha when it happened and he was really badly injured in the attack, so he was hospitalized for a few years.”_

_“Sounds quite sad,” Boyce comments, listening intently. He’s still looking for something so Stiles feels encouraged to keep talking._

_“I mean, it’d probably be sadder if he hadn’t killed his niece for the Alpha power,” he continues. “She was the next in line; her mother was the Alpha before her. At that point, there was only two people left in the pack: her and her brother. So they moved away. Then Peter – that’s the rogue Alpha – he healed enough to lure her back then killed her for her power.”_

_“Then he turned your friend?”_

_“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs. “He already had one beta in his nephew, so he only needed two more. Scott was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Uh, Scott’s my best friend.” Or, at least, he had been before Stiles had left. “It was one of the few genuine coincidences that we actually had over the years. I mean, one wrong step and he might never have met Peter in the woods that night. Hell, one wrong step and **I** would have been the werewolf, not him.”_

_And that is what Boyce seems to be looking for. “Yes,” he agrees, his eyes lighting up in interest. “And instead you became a witch. Proficient at the earth element.”_

_Stiles frowns. “You think it’s connected?”_

_“You were close with this friend?”_

_“Yeah, we were best friends. Not as much at the end, though: he had a lot on his plate and I wasn’t exactly in a good place. But we’d known each other for years, had keys to each other’s houses, the whole shebang.”_

_Boyce nods with certainty; this clearly confirms whatever theory is brewing in his head right now. “Fate often adapts to the choices we make.”_

_“Fate?” Stiles echoes. “Like destiny?”_

_“Destiny doesn’t exist,” Boyce says. “Fate is not so set in stone. Rather, fate is the term used to describe all possible instances of the future. No one path is more probable than another; it is all simply dependent on the choices we make. Such as the route your friend took through the woods that night that caused him to cross paths with the rogue Alpha.”_

_“But what does that have to do with me?”_

_“Werewolves are drawn to nature, and this is where your magic is strongest. You sacrificed yourself in a Druidic ritual. Druids, of course, worship nature.”_

_“What does it mean, though?”_

_“Nothing. I am simply observing that your connection to werewolves, through your best friend, has impacted how your magic has manifested. It is up to you to give it meaning.”_

_They’ve reached the clearing in the middle of the woodland. This is where Boyce has been taking him every day since he arrived in Germany. It’s a small, quiet clearing, with a clear stream running through the middle of it._

_Learning to manipulate earth has been quite the test on Stiles’ ADHD. Boyce encourages him to sit and meditate among nature, to become in-tune with it and listen to it. Sitting still for long periods of time has never been Stiles’ strong point; although it feels like it’s getting easier as he gets older._

_Hear it, feel it, breathe it. The way the trees rustle in the gentle breeze, the softness of the grass under him, the fragrance of the wild flowers around the edge of the treeline. Hear it, feel it, breathe it. The gentle hum of life in the clearing around them, the thrum of magic through the air, the clear smell of the earth beneath him. Hear it, feel it, breathe it._

_“Very good,” Boyce murmurs, somewhere in the distance. “Your magic knows where it belongs. Trust it.”_

_Stiles focuses on the feel of his magic thriving in his blood. He communicates with it, lets it guide him, follows his instincts. He focuses on what he wants it to do, shapes it and pushes it out, lets it flow through him._

_When he eventually opens his eyes, a new tree has sprouted up at the edge of the clearing, completing the circle._

_When Boyce had first led him to this spot, there had been nothing but grass. No trees or plants or flowers. No woodland, just an empty field of grass as far as the eye could see. Over the course of the last few months, Stiles has grown this entire forest with his magic, with Boyce guiding him every step of the way._

_At the last tree, a rare smile graces Boyce’s face._

_“You are ready.”_

*

**April 23rd.**

“So, what do you think?” Chris asks, arms folded across his chest.

“You know I’m a veterinarian, right?” Deaton points out flatly, as he examines the body the hunter has brought him. “Not a medical examiner?”

“I am,” Chris responds. “You’ve told me numerous times over the years. But I also know you’re the only one who can tell me what killed him.”

“You don’t already have a theory?” Deaton lifts his eyebrows at Chris.

“It never hurts to get a second opinion.”

Chris had found the body around an hour ago, just outside the boundary of Beacon Hills, driving back from a weekend weapons convention. Clearly identifiable as a hunter due to his gear, the man is pale to the point of ghostly white, with bite marks around his neck. And he hadn’t been the only one, a whole group of hunters had been attacked and left for dead in the same way.

“The bite marks are deep and vicious, the bodies are completely drained of blood as far as I can tell,” Deaton muses, prodding his way through the examination. “Multiple attackers. It was a quick death but painful.”

“And your conclusion?”

“Definitely a vampire attack.”

Chris looks grim at the news. “Vampires don’t usually hunt in packs, do they?”

Deaton considers the question as he peels his gloves off. “Not that I’m aware of. But definitely more than one vampire fed on this hunter. Did you know him?”

“I knew _of_ him,” Chris says after a moment. “He hunted on the East coast. Vampires, in fact.”

“The hunter becomes the hunted. What’s he doing this far West?”

Chris frowns. “Can you tell how long he’s been dead?”

“That’s not really my area of expertise but if you’re implying that vampires fed on him on their home ground then dragged his body all the way to Beacon Hills to dump it, I don’t think so.”

“So it’s more likely that he followed a group of vampires to Beacon Hills and then the bloodsuckers somehow got the drop on him.”

Deaton makes a noncommittal sound in response. “Perhaps.”

“But vampires are solitary creatures. Why would a group of them all move towards Beacon Hills at the same time? Do you think it’s related to the sacrifices?”

Deaton gives Chris another flat look. “I may be a Keeper of Knowledge but even I can’t keep knowledge I don’t have.”

Chris leans against the examination table. “It’s been quiet for months. And now, in the space of a week, we have a ghoul attack and a group of vampires? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Ghouls are drawn to death and we’ve seen some of that lately.”

“But one death every three days doesn’t exactly match up with the battlefields where we would normally find ghouls scavenging.”

“It is possible the sacrifices are affecting the Nemeton. Perhaps it is broadcasting again, drawing creatures back towards the territory.”

“Maybe we should ask Lydia about that.”

Both men startle at the sound of a door opening and closing. A few seconds later, Scott enters the room, pulling up short when he sees Chris and Deaton poring over a dead body.

“Uh, hey, Deaton. Chris. Everything all right?”

“Not exactly,” Chris sighs. “We have a problem.”

“Another one?” Scott’s shoulders slump like someone just dropped the world onto them. “What is it?”

“There are vampires in Beacon Hills.”

Scott’s reaction to the news is somewhat… anti-climactic. He stands there for a moment, glancing between the two. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

There’s a long pause, as he shrugs out of his jacket, moving to hang it up in the corner.

“I thought you’d be more concerned than that,” Chris says finally, exchanging a glance with Deaton who looks similarly perturbed.

“Oh, I am, I just… I already knew. I ran into them yesterday.”

“And you made out alive?” disbelief etches across Chris’ face.

“I mean, yeah. They didn’t… Well, one of them did attack Allison because she smelled like a hunter and she also scratched Stiles pretty badly. But they were peaceful, for the most part. I guess. In hindsight, it was probably just for show.”

“They didn’t try to kill you or threaten you or anything like that?”

“No. They asked for our help.”

Another silence.

“Your help?” Chris echoes. “Are you sure they were vampires?”

“Yeah, fangs, glowing eyes, the scent of blood. And they knew we were werewolves, so I guess they were able to smell us?”

“Okay,” Chris says slowly, “tell me exactly what happened.”

Scott sighs, turning to face him. “When Derek found the body on Sunday, he was tracking a scent in the woods he didn’t recognize. I took a couple of the pack out to investigate yesterday and we ran into three of them in the woods. One of them said that hunters had destroyed his home and his nest needed help.”

“Hunters? You mean these hunters?” Chris points at the body on Deaton’s table.

“He’s a hunter?” Scott looks at the dead man, wincing faintly at the visible injuries.

“He was. A vampire hunter. Worked up and down the East coast. Vampires are somewhat prevalent over there.”

“Stiles said these vampires were from the East coast,” Scott says, frowning in thought.

“Stiles said that?” Deaton echoes curiously.

“Yeah, he recognized them. Said he’d fought them before.”

“How did _he_ get out alive?” Chris asks, lifting his eyebrows in a sceptical manner.

“Uh, he didn’t really say,” Scott shuffles on the spot a little. “He’s a witch, though, so I assume he was able to use his magic,” he can’t help glancing at Deaton when he says that, curious of the man’s reaction.

To his credit, he doesn’t look particularly concerned. But Scott doesn’t miss the way he presses his lips into a disapproving line, his eyes narrowing the tiniest bit.

“He is?” Chris has only heard about Stiles’ return to Beacon Hills through the grapevine. “When did that happen?”

“While he was away. You’d probably have to ask him for more information, he’s not exactly been the most revealing with me.”

“And he knows about vampires?”

“He knows about these vampires. Look, they didn’t attack us on sight much, but they’re definitely not friendly. Apparently they lock people in cages to use as long-term food sources and they hunt people for sport and they have a taste for witch blood.”

“Interesting,” Deaton crosses the room to get at one of his Druid books.

“We’re not planning on letting them stay but we’re giving them one chance to leave the territory peacefully because everyone deserves a chance.” The look on his face implies that he regrets making that a rule of their negotiations but it’s too late to change it: this is one of the principles the McCall-Hale pack reputation is built on. “We’re meeting the whole, um, nest tonight.”

“Let’s back up a second,” Chris says after a beat. “What exactly do you know about vampires?”

“Only what we’ve read in your books. Vampires are aggressive, driven by their desire to feed. They’re vulnerable to sunlight, they lack control when feeding and often kill their food, they turn people unprovoked, they’re often violent and attack on sight because everyone is a meal to them and their hunger is insatiable.”

“And you’re meeting with them?” Chris asks disbelievingly.

“Look, when we met them, they didn’t exactly match up with what we’ve been told to expect,” Scott points at the book Deaton’s flicking through for information on the vampires. “And they asked for our help. We never turn away someone in need.”

Another of the founding principles.

“What do you know about vampires?” Deaton asks Chris.

“Same as you,” Chris says. “Vampires aren’t exactly complicated creatures. These ones don’t make sense. Are you sure they’re vampires and not Alukah or something?”

“What’s an Alukah?” Scott asks confused.

“Alukah in America?” Deaton’s scepticism is evident. “That’s a little out of their way. Do they even still exist?”

“Who knows?” Chris responds with a half-shrug motion. “Vampires apparently move in groups now. Anything could be true at this point.”

“Do vampires not normally hunt together?” Scott asks. “This guy, Felipe, he said they were a nest. A family. And that hunters had attacked them. Obviously, that last part is a lie, but the rest of it? I mean, there was definitely three of them.”

“More than one vampire definitely fed from this hunter,” Deaton says. “And vampires always drain the blood from their victims so they had to have all been feeding at the same time.”

“What else did this Felipe say?” Chris looks up at Scott.

“Nothing, really. Well, only that they could survive on animal blood, but I guess that was a lie to cover the fact that they had recently eaten.”

Both Deaton and Chris give him twin looks of disbelief.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” Chris says, shaking his head.

“Well, not to doubt you or anything, but where do you get your knowledge from?” Scott asks.

“On vampires in particular? Mostly other hunters. There’s a network of them across the world: it’s how information gets shared. Plenty of the creatures in Argent bestiary I’ve never personally encountered but we talk to people who have.”

“And where do they get their knowledge from?”

“Hunting,” Chris says, sharing another glance with Deaton. “It’s easy to figure out what makes a creature tick when you’re killing it. What are you getting at?”

“Could it be wrong?”

“I mean, anything’s possible but people have been hunting vampires for generations. We’d have to be pretty stupid to be getting it wrong all this time. Besides, anything we find out, we cross-reference with the Druids. Like Deaton.”

“Why?” Scott asks.

“Druids are the Keepers of Knowledge,” Deaton supplies. “It’s not a well-known title anymore but most hunter bestiaries are derived from Druid knowledge, which we got from hunters in the first place.”

Scott thinks that through for a moment. This is news to him, the Druid title and the connections with hunters; but then again, he’s never really asked about it. He’s always just taken their knowledge at face value, with no reason to doubt. Stiles has really shaken things up.

“Stiles mentioned that witches and Druids don’t really get along.”

Deaton looks faintly perturbed. “This is true.”

“And he said this when we were talking about his magic. He seems to think most Druid knowledge is wrong, that what we learned from you about ghouls and vampires is inaccurate.”

“Does he now?”

“I mean, is it possible?”

“Don’t you think if we were wrong, we would have figured it out by now?” Chris points out. “Druids may be the Keepers of Knowledge, but we’re the ones who actually use it. This guy,” he indicates to the body on the table, “has been hunting vampires longer than you’ve been alive. If any of what Stiles said about them was true, he would have said something. That’s what the hunter network is for: making sure your fellow hunters always see the full picture.”

“I don’t think Stiles was wrong about these vampires, though.”

“What did he tell you about them?” Deaton asks, under the guise of curiosity.

“They believe vampires should rule the world. They hunt for sport. They kidnap people and keep them in cages and use them as long-term food sources. Which I guess means that they feed from them but never enough to kill, so they can go back later? And that they have a taste for witch’s blood; apparently because they believe the magic will make them stronger.”

“I’ve never heard of vampires doing that,” Chris rocks back on the balls of his feet. “They always kill their victims when feeding from them; they get a little one-track minded when blood’s involved. Are you sure he was talking about vampires? Maybe he’s getting his lore mixed up.”

“He said that’s what they did to him.”

“What do you mean, did to him?”

Scott hesitates. He doesn’t want to say too much in case Stiles doesn’t want it being spread around like gossip. “I don’t know the whole story, but he mentioned that, because he’s a witch, they trapped him in one of their cages. And fed from him over a long period of time because they thought his blood would make them stronger. It’s not lore for him.”

“Could you be wrong?” Chris directs towards Deaton.

“We get our information from you,” Deaton points out tightly.

“Yes, in the beginning but what about now?” Chris presses before sighing resignedly. “You don’t get it from anywhere, do you?”

“This knowledge has been correct for generations,” Deaton argues. “Passed from Druid to Druid and it has never steered you wrong. Just because one _witch_ says it’s incorrect doesn’t mean it is.”

They’re interrupted by the sound of the bell chiming at the front door. Deaton glances at the clock and realizes his first appointment has arrived. Shooing Chris out of the room, he goes to greet the client and their animal.

Chris sighs, dragging the body from the examination table. “Mind giving me a hand?”

Scott grabs the man’s legs and between the two of them, they shuffle the body out of the back door and back into Chris’ truck, where he can dispose of it in the appropriate manner.

*

Stiles isn’t sure how much Derek has told anyone about his experiences with the vampires.

No one gives him a pitying look as he walks into the pack house or offers sympathies or anything like that. A couple of them look surprised to see him; although that’s probably because he hasn’t technically been invited to this gathering, but he’s here anyway.

He knows these vampires. They won’t go without a fight. They won’t go _down_ without a fight either. Their leader had been _obsessed_ with him once and he knows that, if given the chance, he would be back in their clutches and back in one of those cages. And, well, somehow they’ve been given the chance.

He hadn’t been able to sleep much last night. After his chat with Derek, his fight-or-flight instinct had been all over the place and he’d gotten up multiple times to check his warding. It prickles under his skin, the possibility of them just showing up at his door. He has his magic and he’s not afraid to use it; but he hadn’t been last time either and they’d still overpowered him. Vampires could be as strong as werewolves and even faster.

He’s so concerned with the prospect of vampires, Jennifer doesn’t even register as a threat on his radar. He notices she’s there, because there’s no way he could really miss it with his hypervigilance on high alert, but she’s not important enough to be worried about.

That almost seems like an insult.

“Stiles,” Scott sounds surprised when he greets him. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I came to help. Vampire bait, remember?”

Scott tilts his head a little. “Do you really think we’ll need that? We’re werewolves, Stiles, we can scent out any vampires in hiding.”

“Maybe. You’ll still need someone who knows about vampires. Someone who isn’t Deaton.”

Scott sighs. “Whether his books are wrong or not,” he says, ignoring Stiles’ interjection that they are, in fact, wrong, “it’s not like we had any other sources. Both Chris and Peter said his books were accurate.”

“I mean, it’s not like there was anything stopping you from asking around _outside_ of the territory. I mean, you know what magic smells like, you could have found a witch and asked for their input.”

Scott frowns. “Speaking of, how come I can’t smell _your_ magic?”

“Oh, I hide it,” Stiles holds up his charm bracelet. “For obvious reasons. I escaped these vampires, they could have tracked me if I hadn’t concealed myself. A darkblood’s sense of smell is the strongest one there is. This nest even uses darkbloods as their own personal bloodhounds, among other things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Darkbloods are a type of vampire,” Stiles explains.

“There’s more than one type?”

“Well, only two. The distinction lies in their origins. Redblood vampires are considered natural, and darkbloods aren’t.”

“Aren’t all vampires unnatural?”

“No more than you are. Well, redbloods, at least. Darkbloods are essentially an abomination to the vampire race. Hence why these guys are okay using them as dogs. Most of the information you have is about darkbloods because that’s what most vampire hunters actually kill. Redblood vampires aren’t as easy to detect and they’re able to live life relatively unbothered, for a variety of reasons.”

“So what kind are we fighting?”

“Both. Felipe is a redblood. Casey, the one who attacked Allison, she’s a darkblood.”

“How do we tell the difference?”

“Their looks, mostly. You saw how sickly Casey looked compared to her fellow vampires. That’s because she’s an unnatural vampire. It’s kind of a long story. You’ll also be able to smell darkbloods because they _stink_. Or so I’ve heard. But this nest uses that scent to cover their tracks. It’ll either lead you in circles or into a trap. That’s why you need me.”

“For bait.”

Stiles nods. “I hear magic blood is hard to resist. Plus they came for me. He came for me. I have no doubt once he smells my blood, he won’t stay in hiding.”

“Who?” Scott asks confused.

“His name is… Jerome,” Stiles pauses, drifting slightly into memories of a darker time. “He’s the leader of the nest. You’ll need me to lure him out and then once you take him out, the rest of the nest will go crazy.”

“If it comes to that,” Scott corrects absently as he scans Stiles’ expression. Something about the way he said that name makes Scott think he fears this one more than the others. “They still get one chance to leave the territory.”

“They won’t go easy,” Stiles points out, well aware of the scrutiny. “It’d probably be best to leave anyone who isn’t a werewolf. Vampires are fast, you’ll need to match speed. Darkbloods are faster than redbloods but they’re also weaker and they’ll go crazy for my blood too, which makes for easier targets.”

Plus he doesn’t need the smell of Allison’s pregnancy in the air, confusing their targets. Isaac will likely agree as well, just to keep her safe.

“Lydia’s my Emissary,” Scott says. “It’s traditional to have your second in command and your emissary at pack negotiations.”

“Traditions are peer pressure from dead people. You can make a different choice.”

Scott considers this for a long moment. He tries his best to uphold the traditions of pack dynamics, partly out of respect and partly because it’s expected of him within werewolf negotiations. But these guys aren’t werewolves and they don’t deserve respect, if Stiles’ experience is anything to go. Plus Stiles has made no secret of his fear of these vampires; given that he’s a pretty powerful witch, it’s worth paying attention when something scares him.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re right. This isn’t a traditional negotiation. Wolves only.”

Stiles looks faintly surprised: perhaps his lack of pack attachments led him to think that Scott wouldn’t take his advice. But he nods.

“Speaking of non-werewolf types, what exactly is going on with Cora?”

Scott casts a glance towards his pack member. “You’d probably be best asking her about that.”

Across the room, Jennifer is watching the exchange between the two of them. Derek steps up beside her, glancing at his girlfriend.

“Everything okay?” he asks lowly.

“Fine,” she responds brusquely. “Just keeping an eye on things.”

“What about with us? Is everything alright there?”

“Look,” she turns to face him, “I was pretty upset that you forgot about our date to help _him_,” she gestures loosely at Stiles, “but this is more important. We can talk about it later.”

“We were supposed to talk about it yesterday.”

“I guess I needed more time. It’s not exactly fun, knowing that your boyfriend cares so little about you that he can’t remember when your dates are planned for.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

Jennifer glances across the room again. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Who?” Derek blinks. “Stiles?”

“Twelve years and he suddenly comes back to town right as people are being sacrificed? Doesn’t that seem a little convenient to you? And now he’s just showing up at pack meetings like he belongs here.”

“He’s just helping us with the vampires,” Derek points out. “Besides, he only arrived _after_ the first sacrifice.”

“Or so he led you to believe.”

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Jennifer frowns at him. “He hasn’t exactly made it a secret how he feels about me. I don’t trust him being here. What if he’s going to try and pin these sacrifices on me again? You already skipped a date with me because of him, what next?”

“Hold on,” Derek cuts her off, wincing apologetically. “It was my fault about the date, not his. I had it marked down on the wrong day and I didn’t tell you I wasn’t going to be there. Stiles had no idea we were supposed to be going out that night, how exactly could he plan to get in the way? And there’s no way he could still think you’re the Darach. You’re on _our_ side.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m just being paranoid. It’s not like he’s ever done something like that before, right?” she says pointedly.

Derek glances hesitantly at the witch in question. Could Jennifer have a point? Stiles has grown up, they all have, but could he still hold such a grudge against Jennifer that he’d hold her accountable for these new sacrifices?

“Scott and I won’t let anything like that happen,” he tries to reassure. “I promise.”

Jennifer folds her arms across her chest.

“Look, why don’t we talk about it later?” Derek suggests. “Are you coming home tonight? I miss you.”

Before she can reply, Scott calls for everyone’s attention. It’s almost time to go deal with vampires and he wants to run through the plan once more. All the werewolves who met them yesterday plus Derek are going in to confront them, while everyone else stays back in case they need back-up.

The only non-werewolf to go will be Stiles, partly in case they need his help; and partly because they can’t really stop him from tagging along.

Cora looks put-out at being left behind, but doesn’t say anything because she does understand why, even if it’s more of a struggle now than it’s ever been. Allison is at the opposite end of the scale and she shares a look of relief with Isaac. At least now she doesn’t need an excuse to sit this one out; even if Stiles claims to be the better bait, she doesn’t want to risk it.

“I’ll see you when we get back?” Derek says, leaning in to kiss Jennifer’s cheek.

“Maybe,” she says, turning her head away a little. Derek tries not to react to that; there are more important things to worry about right now.

Scott, David, Isaac, Derek and Stiles take one of the pack jeeps – in that it belongs to Chris but he lends it to them – to the meeting point; the rest of the wolves go on foot to give them advantage of stealth. Scott doesn’t want to go in offensively, even if he is taking most of the pack with him: he still wants to give them their chance to leave peacefully before resorting to a fight.

These vampires are cruel and there’s a part of him that wishes he could just bring them down without negotiations; but he has a responsibility to his territory first and foremost. Chris had promised to get in contact with a few hunters to follow up on this nest if they do leave, so hopefully they won’t be terrorizing people for much longer.

Of course, this all depends on whether they leave without a fight or not.

Stiles is sure they won’t go easily. From the way he’s been talking about these vampires, Scott feels inclined to believe him.

“We’re here,” Derek says, pulling up to an old, abandoned warehouse. It sits on the edge of Beacon Hills and _technically_ constitutes neutral territory because of the way the border lines up with it.

When Scott steps out of the Jeep, he glances into the nearby treeline, plunged into darkness because of the evening hour, and spots his back-up getting into position. Stiles had said vampires have a strong sense of smell; but he’s hoping to use their own trick against them: that the smell of pack will be too spread out to identify specific members.

“Stiles, stay here,” he orders and his old friend puts up no argument, slumping down in his seat. Scott doesn’t want to resort to using him as bait, but just in case he has to, he also doesn’t want to reveal him too soon.

His pack fall in behind him as he enters the warehouse. Felipe is already there, with a group of vampires. He can see Fran, the blonde vampire from the day before, but not Casey, the one who’d attacked Allison. There are three other vampires and one of them looks like what Stiles had called darkbloods. He wonders which one is Jerome.

The two groups meet in the middle of the warehouse.

“Was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show,” Felipe says, stepping forward to indicate that he’s the liaison for this meeting.

“Don’t get too excited,” Scott responds. “We’re not here to help you. We’re here to give you a choice.”

Felipe lifts his eyebrow. “We came here because we heard that you were a sympathetic Alpha with a good pack. You agreed to help us.

“That was before you killed those hunters.”

There’s a silence. Felipe glances at Fran. “We told you they attacked us.”

“That’s not what it looked like. It looked like you attacked them and then dumped their bodies just outside Beacon Hills. If you’ve heard about our pack, then you know we have a truce with the hunters in town.”

“So you’re gonna believe _them_ over your fellow supernaturals?” Felipe sounds outraged but his mask is slipping.

“I saw the bodies,” Scott says. “That wasn’t self-defence. That was coldblooded.”

There’s another pause before Felipe drops his act entirely, rolling his eyes. “Okay, you got us, we killed those hunters. We were hungry,” he shrugs apathetically. “So what?”

“So now you get one chance to leave the territory willingly, before we force you out. You are no longer welcome in Beacon Hills.”

Felipe stares at him for a moment before his face cracks into a malicious smirk. “Did you hear that? The big bad wolf thinks he can threaten us.”

Fran sneers, while a few of the other vampires jeer behind him. Scott hears Derek and Isaac growl in response.

“It doesn’t have to be a threat,” he offers one last time. “You can leave peacefully, there’ll be no need for violence or fighting.”

Felipe scowls. “Yeah, I don’t think so. See, we came here for a reason and, well, until we fulfil our end of the bargain, we don’t get paid.”

“Paid?” Scott echoes, watching as the group of vampires lazily spread out around the warehouse and circle them like prey; what is it Stiles had said about ambushes? “Who’s paying you? And for what?”

“Hm, wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe you should ask that little witch friend of yours.”

Derek’s heart jumps and Scott casts him a look. Had Jennifer been right about Stiles?

“You mean Stiles?”

“Is that his name?” Felipe waves his hand dismissively. “I never could remember. After all, he was only ever food to us. Where is he, by the way? He was in the woods yesterday, and I’m sure he told you all about our little nest.”

“He’s not here,” Scott says. “He didn’t need to be.”

“You mean, you left him all on his lonesome? Are you sure that was a good idea? All kinds of dangerous things lurk in the woods. Witches are… enticing.”

Dangerous things in the woods? Does Felipe know that the rest of his pack is out there? “Is _that_ a threat?”

“No,” Felipe flashes his fangs, “it’s a promise.”

A shriek sounds from above and Scott looks up to see a couple of vampires crouched in the rafters, red eyes glinting as they poise to attack. Felipe lets out a vicious snarl and that seems to be signal, as all vampires lunge towards the wolves. Scott lets out an Alpha roar, just before Felipe knocks him into him.

Stiles hadn’t been wrong about these guys: Felipe is as strong as him and almost as fast and it takes Scott a few seconds of struggle before he can throw the vampire across the room. Felipe lands on all fours – almost like a cat – and barely wastes a second before rushing Scott again. This time the Alpha meets him in the middle and they clash again, claws and fangs aiming to maim and possibly kill on the side of the vampire.

Behind them, Derek, Isaac and David face off against the other three vampires. The two in the rafters have disappeared and that would worry Scott if he’d noticed.

He catches Felipe’s cheek with his claws, causing the vampire to howl. In response, he sinks his teeth into Scott’s arm and rips violently, tearing the skin into pieces. As Scott roars in pain, Felipe kicks his legs out from under him and uses the Alpha’s disorientation to knock him to the ground.

“Do you know how many hunters we’ve killed over the years?” he sneers, putting his weight on Scott’s chest to pin him. “How many we’ve dumped on the roadside for the crows? And do you wanna know _why_? Because it’s real easy to take advantage when they don’t know _shit_ about us. They never do their research. All those books, all that knowledge, and they still don’t know a _fucking_ thing. You don’t even know how many of us there are, do you?”

As if on cue, a pained scream cuts through the warehouse. It takes Scott a second to figure out that it’s Sammi. He snarls, struggling against Felipe’s weight; Felipe drops to a kneeling position on Scott’s chest

“It’s not us you need to be worried about,” he hisses. “It’s the vampires you _can’t_ see.”

Hearing his pack in danger surges anger through Scott’s veins and with another roar, he manages to throw Felipe off of him, sending the vampire across the floor. Felipe barely looks concerned, grinning manically in the dim lighting, Scott’s blood dripping down his chin and his eyes glowing bright red. Then he leaps his way up the wall towards the rafters and escapes through a broken skylight.

Two of the remaining vampires make similar escapes, despite David and Isaac’s attempts to trap them. The third falls victim to Derek, who manages to rip their throat out with his teeth. Scott barely pauses to acknowledge them – relying on Derek to check up on the other two – as races out the door to find the rest of the wolves.

It almost looks like a warzone outside. The smell of blood is potent in the air; some of the trees have broken branches, and the grass is trampled. There’s a dead vampire lying next to a tree. Ethan is limping with Aiden’s assistance, while Felix has Sammi cradled in his arms.

“There were too many of them,” he hurriedly says. “I couldn’t get to her in time. She’s not healing fast enough.”

Sammi’s hands are clutched around her neck, where four claw marks rip deep into her throat. She’s struggling for air, blood bubbling out around her fingers, and while Scott can see that the wound is beginning to close, he knows she’s losing blood too fast for it to mean anything.

He falls to his knees and takes Sammi’s hand, squeezing tightly. “Just hold on, you’re gonna be okay,” he tries to reassure through an unsteady voice but they’re empty words and they all know it. Without Lydia or Deaton, there’s no way Sammi is going to be able to heal in time.

Oh, why had he listened to Stiles about leaving her behind?

Speaking of…

“Have any of you seen Stiles?” he asks quickly, ignoring the looks of disbelief the twins send his way.

“I’m here,” a voice says from behind him and Scott whirls around to find Stiles standing between the trees, unharmed. His red hoodie is surprisingly bright in the darkness; if Scott hadn’t been so distracted, he might have thought it had been glowing gold. Any relief Scott feels at the sight of him is squashed down by the guilt and fear at his pack member dying in front of him.

Stiles only takes a second to take in the scene, before he’s across the clearing and kneeling at Sammi’s side. “I need you to move your hands.”

Sammi just about manages to look at Scott, who hesitates before nodding. Sammi’s hands fall limply away from the wound and without the pressure, the blood flows freely. Even without his werewolf hearing, Scott would be able to tell that she doesn’t have much longer.

Stiles holds out his hands over Sammi’s neck. There’s a momentary stillness through the clearing and then his eyes start to glow silver. Glowing tendrils snake across his hands and then there’s a faint glow to Sammi’s wound. Nothing seems to change for what feels like an age but then Scott sees her throat beginning to close up. The flow of blood starts to slow.

Her heartbeat is weak but it’s not getting any weaker and Scott briefly closes his eyes, relishing in the fact that he can still hear it. Distantly, he registers Derek, Isaac and David behind him.

Stiles’ eyes glow brighter and Sammi’s healing increases some more. Scott might have marvelled at the sight, if the life of his beta hadn’t been on the line. Stiles enhances her healing until it’s safe enough to let it kick in naturally and finish knitting the wound back together.

There’s a small pause, before Sammi gasps in a full breath of air. Felix lets out a cry of joy and pulls his pack mate into a tight hug. David stumbles forward and wraps both of them into his arms. Sammi’s heartbeat thuds loudly in Scott’s ear.

David and Isaac join the pile forming on the ground, while Stiles moves to Ethan. There are a few nasty claw marks up his leg. They’re healing well enough, but Stiles reaches out, his eyes glowing again, and the wounds all but vanish.

“Thanks,” Ethan tests his weight on his leg and disentangles from his brother.

“Yeah, thank you,” Scott repeats, smiling warmly at his friend. He glances back to where Sammi is alive and well and complaining about being squashed under the weight of three werewolves. Derek looks faintly amused from behind them.

“Happy to help,” Stiles shrugs, faintly embarrassed.

“Are you okay, by the way?” he asks. “Felipe said some things in there. About you. You didn’t run into any vampires, did you?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No. I didn’t. They probably wouldn’t have been able to smell me, so unless you told them I was here, they never knew.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s lying and he appears to be fine. Scott claps a hand on his shoulder, just to reassure himself.

“Did you see…?”

“Jerome?” Scott supplies, feeling Stiles flinch at the name under his touch. “We didn’t exactly introduce ourselves.”

“Oh, you would have known if he’d been there. You can’t miss him.”

There’s a hesitation and then Scott sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Most of them got away. There’s now a bunch of vampires running through Beacon Hills. And from what Felipe said… You were right. We don’t know anything about them.”

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles assures. “Most people don’t know much about them. It’s a history thing. Vampires don’t exactly get the best rap. This is a bad example, of course, but most vampires aren’t that different from werewolves. I’ll happily fill you in on everything you’re missing. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “I think that’d be a good idea.”

He turns to the pile of betas on the forest floor and urges them to get up and get moving. There’s no point lingering here for the moment. He pulls Sammi into a hug as soon as she’s free from her pack mates, just reassuring himself that she’s okay. She mumbles a few assurances into his ear.

Derek and Isaac give their seats in the jeep to Sammi and Ethan, offering to run back to the pack house: recently injured pack members get those kind of privileges.

As the wolves filter out of the woods, Stiles takes a second to use his magic on the clearing to encourage it to heal from the fight, before hurrying after Scott; he is his ride home, after all.

Behind him, a pair of eyes glow gold.

*

**November;  
11 years ago.**

****

_The dojo is quiet as Lian puts him through his paces._

****

_She’s been teaching him self-defence for two months now and he’s finally getting the hang of it. Muscles he never knew he had are developing in his arms and legs, his tolerance for exercise is increasing every day and, best of all, he no longer feels dead after every session._

****

_Lian observes him as he practices, exchanging a few words in Chinese with her twin, Shen._

****

_“Shen agrees,” she says. “Your stance is good.”_

****

_Stiles has two sessions a day right now: a warm-up in the morning and training in the afternoon. After the first week of sessions, Lian had tailored her tutoring specifically to him, which had probably helped with his progress. She keeps the sessions from being too repetitive in order to keep his focus on the lesson and takes advantage of the excess energy he always seems to have._

****

_Shen helps Lian run the dojo, offering lessons to the public, so he spends time observing Stiles’ sessions and helping Lian teach him. He makes for a good sparring partner too._

****

_“How do you think you are doing?” Lian asks._

****

_“I’m not much of an expert but I feel like I’m doing okay,” Stiles responds, dropping his stance to stretch his arms. “I feel like I’m getting better every day.”_

****

_“Good,” she smiles warmly at him, her eyes twinkling. “We do not want you to get stuck. Getting better is a good thing. We will finish up today with a short sparring session. Shen, would you do the honours?”_

****

_Shen doesn’t speak English as well as Lian but he understands the gestures his sister makes. Stiles has been helping him with his ESL classes, though, in exchange for staying with them while he’s in China._

****

_Shen steps up to the mat across from Stiles and both men bow, before drawing their stances. Lian gives them the signal to start and Stiles makes his move._

****

_Lian watches them from the edge of the dojo, circling around to examine from all angles. Stiles can feel her eyes on him the whole time, as she evaluates his ability to defend himself._

****

_If he succeeds in beating Shen, he knows she’ll be his new sparring partner and he’s looking forward to that. It’s no secret between them that there’s a mutual attraction: Lian is cute, with her hair cropped short around her jawline, pretty green eyes, and, well, she’s a total badass which is never a bad thing._

****

_The only downside is that she has rules about dating. “I don’t date my students,” she’d told him one night, out of the blue. “The power imbalance is wrong. But you won’t be a student once you complete your initiation. You’ll be one of us. And I don’t have any rules against dating a fellow witch.”_

****

_It’s such a change from his high school years. Gone are the days when he used to obsess over crushes who never glanced at him twice._

****

_Now he can say he’s had a girlfriend. Now he can say he has experience. Now he can say he has a crush who likes him back._

****

_It’ll probably be a couple of years before he goes through his initiation. And who’s to say Lian will still be interested, will still be available, when that time comes? But it’s a confidence booster for him **right now** to know that she’s interested enough to say outright. And that there might be a chance for a more intimate relationship in the future._

****

_Shen pins him to the mat and Lian claps her hands once to end the session._

****

_“You fought well,” Shen praises stiltedly, offering him a hand to get up. Stiles nods and smiles his thanks; he knows he came close to beating Shen today, and that is enough to spur him through his next sessions._

****

_Lian hands him a warm towel to wipe his sweat away. “You came close today,” she echoes his thoughts. “Maybe tomorrow you might win.”_

****

_Stiles smiles, already eager for his next training session. “I’ll try my best.”_

****

_“Of course you will. You are good student.”_

****

_Shen heads out the dojo and Lian follows a moment later. Stiles takes the time to wipe himself down with the towel before heading to a shower._

****

_He can feel himself getting stronger with every session. He knows he almost beat Shen today. Maybe tomorrow he really will win._

****

_It’s a good confidence booster._

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever read those fics where Stiles is learning magic from Deaton and he makes a reference about it to Star Wars, Harry Potter, etc. and Deaton is always like, stop messing around, this isn't a game, you need to take this seriously, blah, blah, blah? well, in the words of one of my characters: "if relating magic to popular media that you enjoy helps you understand how to use it better, then who am I to argue?"
> 
> also I made that comparison of vampires to cats and I have never been more _GENIUS_ in my life.
> 
>   * **[HERE](https://fri3ndlyskies.tumblr.com/)** is my inactive, soon-to-be-renamed tumblr where you can send asks, follow me, do tumblr stuff with.
>   * I also have a **[TWITTER](https://twitter.com/KASE1248)** for my 280-character shitposting.
>   * and **[THIS](https://hesssas.tumblr.com/post/189766526743)** is Scott and Lydia in a gifset.


	6. voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plan of attack:
> 
> The pack formulate a plan against the vampires. Stiles comes face to face with his past; and Cora receives distressing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better way to celebrate one's birthday than by posting another chapter of my fic? Happy August 5th (in BST), everyone.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who are still here, despite my sporadic updates. We are over 2200 hits and almost up to 150 kudos. I wish I was as good at expressing my appreciation as I am at writing fics (and I'm not even that good at that, apparently). (Also, to anyone who was notified of a chapter upload last night, I accidentally posted a draft of this chapter too early, and I apologize for that!)
> 
> I am super determined to get through this fic, if only because I am so excited for what I have planned. Chapter 8 is gonna have some of my favourite flashbacks; and I can't wait for Chapter 12, when everything starts slotting into place. And I have a few plans for flashback side-fics, that'll expand on some of the flashbacks that have yet to actually appear in this one.
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING** for _BLOOD && VIOLENCE_ and _IMPLIED/REFERENCED TORTURE_ in the later parts of this chapter.

**February;  
10 years ago.**

_From China to Japan; Stiles is gladder every day that his mentors speak English for his weak monolingual American ass._

_Many of his mentors are also closer in age to him than he might have expected. Tatsuo, for example, is only 7 years older than him. His unique situation aside, he supposes that most of them have been learning magic their whole life; unlike him – which is what makes them the experts. Rumour has it his mother might have taught him magic once but her disease took hold when he was young and there hadn’t really been any time. So instead of having his magic coaxed out of him and taught from a young age, it had just stayed bottled up inside of him until his sacrifice._

_Sometimes he wonders what life might have been like if he had learned magic when he had been younger._

_Anyway, his point is that Tatsuo is not that much older than him for being a mentor, which had been surprising at first. But, really, though, that’s not even the best part anymore. The best part is his wife. She is Stiles’ first official encounter with a different, and new to him, species: a kitsune._

_A fire kitsune, to be specific. Eiko’s older than both Tatsuo and him combined, but he doesn’t know exactly how old and, well, he knows better than to ask a lady her age._

_She has this ability to manipulate heat and fire; they light a lot of their house with candles because it’s cheaper than electricity. And food basically never goes cold around here. Stiles wishes he could control fire but unfortunately, kitsunes can’t teach witches. But Tatsuo had said he’d probably learn that from someone further down the road anyway._

_Tatsuo, on the other hand, is teaching him glamour magic and illusions. It’s… somewhat ironic, given that his wife is supposed to be the trickster fox in the family. But maybe that’s why they’re drawn to each other, he thinks; it makes a cute love story, the trickster spirit and the illusionist._

_Illusion magic is hard. It requires a lot of concentration and a lot of energy, especially for someone like Stiles, where it isn’t a primary ability._

_“You must focus,” Tatsuo tells him. “Illusions take time to master.”_

_Many witches choose to use spellcraft for illusions, over their own magic; glamours are hard to master but, depending on how long you want to maintain one, it often translates into near-constant passive magic, which depletes fast. Stiles figures that, once he’s passed Tatsuo’s training, he will also revert to sigilwork for any of his illusions, but in order to complete his initiation, he does have to learn how to master it as an ability._

_“Concentrate on what you want to see,” Tatsuo coaches gently. “Focus on it, see it in your mind’s eye. Coax it into existence.”_

_Illusion magic really tests his ADHD limits. The meditation skills he had learned from Boyce are put into play here, but now he needs to sharpen his attention; he’s not just connecting to the earth this time, he’s creating something from what is essentially nothing and it requires a lot of effort to use his magic like that._

_“Illusions take time to master,” Tatsuo repeats kindly, every time he fails. “Even I had struggles in the beginning and this is my strength. Your progress so far is much more than many witches reach in their whole lifetimes.”_

_It’s akin to winning the Olympics the first time he manifests an illusion. Tatsuo gives him a vase and tells him to create a flower. It’s weak and transparent and flickers out of existence almost immediately but it’s his first proper illusion and he can’t help the excited cheer when he realizes **he did it, he actually did it**._

_Tatsuo’s smile is warm and proud and he claps Stiles’ shoulder and congratulates him easily. “You are growing strong with your magic. Soon you won’t need the vase.”_

_Eiko cooks a traditional Japanese soup as a celebration. Stiles makes a mental note to get the recipe from her before he leaves Japan._

_“Illusions are hard but useful,” Tatsuo explains one afternoon as Stiles rests his magic. “Good defence for witches.”_

_“Do witches need to defend themselves from much?” Stiles asks curiously. He knows that a lot of the occult are hunted for simply being an occult, but no one had mentioned that happening to witches; witches are considered the closest to humans without actually **being** human._

_“It happens,” Tatsuo nods grimly. “Sometimes hunters, sometimes not hunters. A witch is a powerful tool to many. Or a dangerous enemy to others.”_

_It makes a little more sense as to why he had to learn how to fight from Lian; it hadn’t just been for his eventual initiation but also to ensure his safety and survival._

_“I didn’t really think about that,” he says after a moment of thought. “I kind of had it in my head that the occult was on one side and the humans were on the other. I never thought that, yeah, we all kind of hunt each other.”_

_“That is the unfortunate truth of life,” Tatsuo responds poignantly. Then he looks at Stiles, his eyes thoughtful. “But it is not always a chosen truth.”_

_Sometimes Tatsuo is too cryptic in his lessons for Stiles to understand without a few hours of contemplation. But this is not one of those times. His thoughts turn towards Beacon Hills and the events he’d survived through. How many people had hunted because they’d chosen to? And how many people had hunted, just to survive?_

_It’s easy to dismiss Peter as a mindless serial killer, but it had been the Argents that had driven him to his actions. He had only hunted in response to being hunted. And the same could go for the Alpha Pack: hunting others as a means of survival, after being hunted themselves. Even the Darach was simply fighting for her own survival in the wake of almost being killed._

_It all goes back to the hunters, really: the only army in this war that had truly chosen to fight, rather than being forced into it._

_A truth not chosen by everyone; but certainly accepted by them._

_No one would willingly choose being hunted as their reality, but with people like Gerard and Kate Argent in the world, it is likely that many of them had felt no other option than to hunt in return, thus enforcing the hunters’ ideals that they needed to be hunted in the first place. A vicious cycle._

_“But if we know the truth,” Stiles mulls over the conversation, “we can choose differently, right? Choose better?”_

_Tatsuo turns his gaze to the horizon. “That is yet to be seen.”_

*

**April 24th.**

Melissa smiles tiredly when Chris presents her with a cup of steaming tea, just as she steps through the door. “Thank you,” she accepts it gratefully. Fresh off a busy shift at the hospital, the warm, sweet drink does wonders for the ache in her bones.

“I replaced all of your lightbulbs,” he tells her, earning another appreciative smile. “What exactly did Scott do to cause all of them to break in the first place?”

“I was under the impression it was Stiles who did it,” Melissa lowers herself onto the couch to rest her feet. “Apparently he has magic now?”

“I heard,” Chris agrees, with some forced neutrality.

“I don’t really understand how that caused _this_,” she gestures towards the lights in the room, “but I’ve learned to just take Scott’s word for it at this point.”

“I don’t know much about witches myself,” Chris responds, “but I have heard of magic creating havoc with electrical appliances. Particularly with witches still coming into their powers.”

Melissa hums softly as she sips her tea. “Is Stiles a new witch then?”

“I’m not sure,” Chris frowns. If it had been a recent transition, that might account for the vampires in town. If what he says is true, then perhaps he’d been a captive of the creatures shortly before he came home, which would explain why the vampires suddenly showed up. But Scott had implied that he’d be able to use his magic to escape, which suggests he’s been practicing for longer than a few months. “I haven’t actually seen Stiles since he returned. We should probably ask Scott next time we see him.”

“That’ll probably be later today,” Melissa says. “I’m going to give him a call, I had a bit of a weird shift at the hospital.”

Chris shifts to look at her. “Weird how?”

“We had a number of people coming in, covered in bite marks and complaining about being attacked by some kind of animal. It kind of reminded me of the early days, when Peter was roaming wild? Not that he was ever did it on this scale but I saw my fair share of animal attacks back then.”

“Did they look like animal bites?”

“That’s the thing,” Melissa sits up a little, her tiredness ebbing away momentarily. “It wouldn’t be the first time a mountain lion ended up in our streets,” she sends her boyfriend a knowing look, “but they looked like human bites. And we had a lot of victims. A lot more than we’ve ever had from a mountain lion. I called Noah in the middle of my shift, he’d been receiving similar reports but outside of the attacks, no one had actually seen any kind of animal at all in the streets. Not even our kind.”

Chris runs a hand over his beard thoughtfully. “Scott said he was leading a negotiation last night with some new… people in the territory. It could be related.”

“What people?”

“But it doesn’t quite fit with what we know,” he continues distractedly. “Unless Stiles is right and what we know is wrong.”

“Chris,” Melissa snags his arm to get his attention, “what people? What’s going on?”

He looks at her and she can see the grim lines setting into his face. His mouth is a tight line and there’s a worried frown creasing his brow. “There are vampires in town.”

“Vampires?” Melissa echoes. “Like the kind that drink blood? Is that what attacked all those people last night?”

“I don’t know,” and she can hear the frustration in his voice too. “I don’t even know if they are true vampires. Scott said he ran into them a couple days ago, in the woods. If that were true, he would be dead or, at the very least, injured. Vampires are notoriously aggressive. But apparently they asked for his help. None of what he told us matches up with what we know about vampires. All those people last night, they should have been drained dry. Vampires are always hungry, driven by their need for blood. They don’t just bite people and run off. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are there other types of vampires?”

“Well, there’s theories about vampires that feed on dreams, or on memories, or emotions. But that’s never been proven. The only vampires I know of are the ones that drink blood. I’ve never hunted them myself but I’ve heard from plenty of hunters over the years and I’ve never heard of reports like this.”

Melissa links their hands together and squeezes comfortingly. “Have you tried talking to Deaton? He’s the other resident expert, isn’t he?”

“He’s supposed to be,” Chris agrees slowly. “Scott says Stiles thinks his information, our information, is wrong. Maybe he’s right.”

“Is that possible?”

Chris frowns again. “It would be hard. Improbable, but not exactly impossible. Hunters tend to have a very limited view of what they’re hunting; usually the bad view.”

“Deaton’s not exactly a hunter, though.”

“No. It’s a long-standing tradition that hunters and Druids share knowledge. It’s how bestiaries came into effect. Everything we learn about what we hunt, we share with the Druids and they crosscheck it with their own sources, which usually tend to be each other. But vampires are wrong in _everyone’s_ eyes. They’re considered abominations. For us to have gotten it wrong on such a grand scale, it’s… it doesn’t make sense. But then, neither do the vampires Scott met in the woods. Asking for help, even as a bait tactic, and hunting in packs and surviving on animal blood. It’s not in their nature.”

Melissa sits for a moment, nursing her tea. “Maybe you could ask Stiles. If he claims that what we know is wrong, it’s only fair to assume that he has different information.”

“I’d certainly like to find out what he knows,” Chris agrees darkly, before turning to Melissa with a softer expression. “So, aside from the mass _animal_ attacks, anything else happen on your shift?”

Melissa smiles, her tiredness reappearing as the conversation switches to a new topic, and reclines back in her seat to regale him with tales from the third shift emergency room, with her tea warming her hands and her boyfriend’s gentle eyes following every word.

*

Allison bites her lip as she compares a soft blue dress to a floral white one. Across the aisle, Lydia’s browsing through a hat display.

“What do you think?” the redhead asks, propping a floppy, cream-colored sunhat on her head.

Allison smiles. “Looks great on you. Although I don’t think there’s much that doesn’t.”

Lydia shrugs. “It has happened. Wait until we have to wedding dress shopping and you’ll see. I have no desire to pull off a mermaid’s tail.”

“Aren’t wedding dresses designed to look good on you, no matter what?” Allison puts the dresses back; she’s just spotted a cute pair of jeans. “Have you had any ideas about that, though? Your wedding dress?”

“A few,” Lydia responds, examining a selection of purses. “Nothing concrete, but I still have time. We haven’t even set a date yet.”

“Maybe you should. With everything that’s been happening lately, you never know when you might actually get the chance.”

Lydia makes a gentle noise. “Maybe. I just want it to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Allison reassures with a small smile. She runs her fingers over the jeans, hesitating about what to say next. “Um, since we’re on the topic… how’s Scott doing? With everything that’s been happening lately, I mean?”

Lydia huffs a humourless laugh. “Which part?”

“Well, uh, Stiles mostly. I’m pretty sure we can all tell how he’s dealing with the sacrifices.”

Lydia turns away slightly, fiddling with the sunhat to delay responding. “I don’t really know, honestly. I don’t think he’s really had time to figure it out. Stiles was only back a couple of days before we were suddenly under attack. First the ghouls, and now these vampires, who are here for him specifically? We’ve kind of been thrown back together and I don’t think Scott’s actually had a moment to sort through his thoughts.”

“It can’t be easy seeing him again after all these years. Especially since most of it was silence.”

“It’s tenuous. I mean, they’ve already argued a couple of times. You’ve seen it. But… Scott, he _has_ spent a few hours reading through all the postcards Stiles wrote him but never sent. I don’t know if he knows whether he’s angry at him or just happy he’s back. And I don’t think he knows that he can be both.”

Allison contemplates this for a moment. “And, uh, how are _you_ doing?”

“Well, Stiles and I weren’t exactly best friends when he up and left,” Lydia answers slowly, choosing each word carefully. “For a long time, he was just the weird kid who had a crush on me. And now I know he’s more than that, but by the time we were in the same picture together, I was kind of already _old news_,” she casts a pointed glance at her best friend.

“You’re talking about Derek.”

Lydia smiles sadly. “Yeah, mostly.” She sighs softly, her gaze distant. “You know, I saw them together over the summer a couple of times. I really thought they had a connection.”

“They bonded over Boyd and Erica,” Allison points out needlessly.

“Yeah, I guess.” There are thoughts jumbling around Lydia’s head and Allison waits patiently, giving her time to figure out what she wants to say. “You know, when Stiles liked me, we didn’t really know each other. I mean, he knew _about_ me but I always felt… When he started seeing me as a _person_, that’s when he lost interest. Not that… Not that Stiles was shallow or anything, but he put me on this pedestal. I became this unattainable goddess to him and when I started coming down to the same level, I guess he realized that I made an even better friend. But he saw Derek as a person from the beginning. Not always a good person, but there was no pedestal or fantasy about him. And when he started developing that crush on him, I thought it was genuine. It was real. And honestly, I was kind of rooting for them for a while.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“Look, Derek and Jennifer are great together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lydia turns to look Allison straight on; underneath her words, her heart thumps out the lie. “I guess I’m saying that I can understand a little why Stiles felt the need to leave.”

“Leaving for a few months to get over a crush, sure. But twelve years without an explanation or any communication… does that really excuse it? That he left because was having a hard time with Jennifer in the picture? He accused her of being the Darach.”

“He also accused Deaton,” Lydia counters. “I think we’re putting too much weight on that. People were dying, including one of his friends. It was a trying time. It’s not like he doesn’t still believe it. And I know Jennifer’s worried but there’s no way he’s gonna jump back on _that_ train again. He knows better, you said that yourself.”

Allison bites her lip. “Stiles said that if Jennifer’s still worried about being kicked out, it’s her problem, not his.”

Lydia dwells on that for a minute under the guise of trying on a scarf. “Maybe he’s right. If Jennifer doesn’t trust us by now, she probably never will.”

“But that doesn’t make it okay, does it?”

“It shouldn’t. Jennifer’s one of us.”

The two girls fall silent after that. Allison grabs a pair of jeans to try on and one of the dresses she’d been examining earlier. Stopping in front of a mirror, she takes in her figure, running a hand over her stomach. She hasn’t started showing yet, probably won’t for at least a few more weeks, but maybe she should start looking into maternity clothes; or at the very least, items that will stretch to fit her figure for longer.

She glances quickly over her shoulder but Lydia is absorbed in a make-up display. She slips into the dressing room to try the clothing on.

“Everything fit okay?” Lydia asks, when she comes out.

Her stomach drops with momentary panic that somehow Lydia knows, before she realizes it’s just a genuinely innocent question that they ask each other sometimes when they go on their shopping trips. “Uh, jeans are too small,” she waves them loosely.

“I got a couple things to buy and then I should really get to the grocery store. You good to go after this?”

“Sure, let me just grab another size,” Allison hurries to exchange her jeans and takes the time to figure out why she’d been so panicked about Lydia knowing she’s pregnant. She’d agreed with Isaac to keep it a secret until at least the second trimester; partly because there’s a high chance of miscarriage; but with everything that’s been happening lately, she’s also hesitant to reveal the news and give everyone else something to worry about.

Isaac’s already concerned about her well-being. She doesn’t need Scott excluding her from the fights because she’s pregnant; or putting himself or anyone else at risk to protect her if she _is_ included. Not now, when a year’s worth of kidnappings is finally adding up to something and they need all hands on deck.

There’s a part of her that’s also just worried about how it’s going to affect _her_. This isn’t a planned pregnancy and, while she hasn’t fully decided what she’s going to do about it, she’s _is_ questioning how this is going to change her life, how equipped she is to be a parent, if she’s even _ready_ to be a parent, if she even _wants_ to be one. And she’d just rather deal with that privately for now, before getting anyone else involved.

“Everything okay with you?” Lydia interrupts her internal debate as they exit the shop. Allison hadn’t said a word during the entire transaction.

“You ever thought of having kids?” Allison blurts out in lieu of an answer.

Lydia blinks, caught off-guard. “Uh, not really? I still have to get married first, remember? Then comes the baby in the golden carriage. Why?”

“Well, it’s just… We’re hitting our thirties. It’s probably prime time to be thinking about that kind of thing, right? I mean, I’ve finished medical school, Isaac’s got a stable career, we’re living together. Next steps and all that.”

Lydia studies her friend for a moment. “I mean, not really doesn’t mean never. Sure, I’ve considered it once or twice. I’m just not sure I’m ready for those kinds of changes. To my lifestyle, to my _body_. It’s a lot to take in. Give it a couple of years and maybe I’ll have a different opinion.”

“A couple of my friends from med school, they’ve been making announcements online,” Allison lies, thankful that Lydia is not a werewolf. “Just made me start considering my options. The chances of a having a high-risk pregnancy almost double once you hit 35.”

“Sure,” Lydia agrees. “But it’s still a relatively low number. Plus that probably doesn’t account for us having werewolves as the fathers.”

Allison hums contemplatively. “Do you think that would affect it?” Stiles had said that werewolf babies were just as durable as the adults, but did that account for genetic issues? Could werewolves even have genetic conditions like downs syndrome or autism?

“Well, put it this way: Scott and I have had a couple of scares,” Lydia admits carefully. “Even with using preventative measures. Werewolf swimmers seem to be just as strong as they are. I’m not saying it could, or even _would_, lower the risk, but I don’t doubt that a werewolf baby, or even just one with a werewolf parent, would be more resistant or durable against pregnancy risks. That’s not an argument to just go and suddenly have a baby,” she hurriedly adds, “but if you’re concerned about timing and your age, it’s something to consider.”

“I guess with everything that’s been happening lately, I’m just concerned about what the future will hold.”

Lydia reaches to give Allison’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone in that. And I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.”

Allison smiles gently. “Thanks, Lyds.”

“Okay, enough of that,” Lydia says sunnily as she turns her attention back to their shopping trip. “I think we should reward ourselves after such an adult conversation and visit one more boutique. There’s this really cute one that just opened a couple blocks away.”

“Lead the way,” Allison gestures with a laugh, falling into step next to her best friend, all thoughts of her pregnancy forgotten for the moment.

*

“Sounds like they’re trying to lure you out,” Stiles says, after Scott relays the apparent vampire attacks at a hastily called meeting with him, Lydia, Derek, Allison and Isaac. He’d been surprised to receive an invitation but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’ll take his inches where he can get them, thank you very much.

“By attacking innocent people?” Scott asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs loosely. “They’ll be expecting you to jump to their defence. It’s kind of what you’re known for.”

“But why?” Lydia asks, confusion marring her features. “What’s the point? If they wanted to kill us, they would have done so last night, right?”

“Probably,” Stiles agrees. “After all, they almost did.”

Scott’s mouth turns down at the reminder of Sammi’s injury from the night before. She had been okay when he’d last checked on her but he still feels antsy about her being alone right now. Near-death experiences aren’t easy to recover from.

“So why didn’t they?” Derek asks.

And isn’t that the question that’s been plaguing Stiles ever since yesterday?

There’s something bothering him about this whole situation. He’s been racking his brains to try and figure it out. These vampires, Jerome’s vampires… why are they here?

The obvious answer to that is that they’re here for him. But how did they find him? There’s only a few people in the world who know exactly where he is right now and they _never_ would have given him up. And if they _are_ here for him, why even bother trying to go against the local pack? If this is just about getting to Stiles, there’s no need for any kind of subterfuge, like they pulled in the woods. There was no need to arrange a peaceful meet at an abandoned factory. And now they’re trying to lure the pack out. If this is about killing them, the vampires have had at least two opportunities to do so. So why haven’t they? What’s the real reason for them being here?

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice cuts into his musings and he startles slightly, glancing up to see the group all looking at him expectantly for an answer to the question he _absolutely_ remembers Derek asking.

“I don’t know,” he says quickly, biting his lip. His gaze flits unseeingly around the room, as he rocks on the balls of his feet with nervous energy.

It’s not just the vampires. The ghouls have been bothering him too. Ghouls like that, the feral ones, they’re… mindless stomachs. All they care about is feeding. But there’s not enough death around to lure one ghoul to the area, never mind _seven_.

And that’s the other problem. Seven ghouls. Ghouls barely travel in packs of more than four. Rarely, five, if there’s enough death to go around – war, famine, plague – but any more and they start eating each other. But there had been seven in the woods, drawn here by three measly sacrifices spread out over a week. It doesn’t add up.

“So what’s the plan?” Isaac’s asking Scott, all the attention directing back onto the Alpha. “Do we go after the vampires?”

“At the very least, we’ve got to stop them from hurting people,” he replies. The reality of it is that they might have to resort to killing them. It’s not something that Scott takes any pleasure in, but the vampires had been given their chance. They won’t choose to leave peacefully; if they choose to leave at all.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Allison speaks up. “If Stiles is right and they’re trying to lure us out, they’ll use that to their advantage.”

“Maybe,” Stiles murmurs thoughtfully, his brain ticking over what he knows about these vampires. “Maybe not.”

“What’re you thinking?” Scott turns back to his old friend. He recognizes the look on his face, the kind of look he used to get when a plan is coming together. He’s used to seeing it when Stiles had some kind of crazy, occasionally illegal stunt in mind; it looks much more serious on him these days.

“That Derek’s right,” he says. “This doesn’t make sense. If these vampires wanted to kill you, they would have done so already. They’re not some evil mastermind or super villain; they’re just a group of vampires trying to survive. They shouldn’t even be here.”

“Okay, but they are,” Derek interjects. “So maybe we should focus more on dealing with them and figure out the how and why later.”

“But that’s my point,” Stiles continues. “They’re here for a reason. A reason that they’re getting _paid_ for, if what Felipe said to Scott last night is anything to go by.”

“You think that reason is something to do with us,” Scott guesses, trying to figure out where Stiles’ train of thought is leading.

“I mean, it seems more than likely, but that’s not really what I’m focusing on here.”

“The payment?” Lydia asks, her brow creasing in a faint frown.

“There are few things that would cause Jerome to abandon his own territory and intrude on someone else’s on the other side of the country. There are even fewer things that would cause him to bring his nest along with him.”

“Care to give us a clue?” Isaac asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Stiles sighs softly, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I already told you. They came for me.”

“Wait a minute,” Scott interjects hurriedly, looking increasingly concerned. “You think _you’re_ the payment?”

Stiles shrugs uncomfortably. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Felipe’s threats against Stiles come to the front of Scott’s mind. He hadn’t liked how they’d sounded then and he doesn’t like how this sounds now. These vampires are vicious and cruel; he doesn’t want to think about what they might have put Stiles through when they had him captive. He wonders what they’d be willing to do to get him back.

“But why?” Isaac speaks up again. “Why are you so important to them?”

“A multitude of reasons, I’m sure, but you’d really have to ask them about that. Or don’t, they probably wouldn’t tell you, anyway.”

“But if this just about your blood, couldn’t they just find another witch to satisfy their needs?” Isaac presses, ignoring Scott’s attempts to get him to stop.

“They could have, and they probably did,” Stiles’ ears ring with the memory of tortured screams. “But this is probably more along the lines of, uh, Jerome getting _attached_. I…” he stops, takes a shaky breath. “I survived a lot longer than most and I was only there six months. I wasn’t their only witch, I was just… their favourite. _His_ favourite. Jerome isn’t a big fan of losing his property.”

Scott’s hand on his shoulder causes him to flinch but he casts a grateful glance at the Alpha; it grounds him in the present, keeping him from getting lost in bad memories.

“This still doesn’t help us with what they’re doing in Beacon Hills,” Derek points out, albeit hesitantly in the face of Stiles’ near palpable fear; although he can’t help noticing how he still can’t smell anything from the witch.

“I’m getting to that,” Stiles sends him a pointed look. “They’re probably here for whatever they were hired for in the first place but _whoever_ hired them gave up any leverage they had when they revealed where I was. I don’t expect Jerome to hold up his end of the bargain when he can just go straight for me.” He turns to Scott, schooling his face into a neutral expression. “I’m not bold enough to assume I’m under your protection… but Jerome doesn’t know that. I was in the woods with you the other day. And they probably knew I was there last night.”

Felipe had hinted at knowing Stiles was alone. Scott shifts uncomfortably, trying not to think of how badly last night could have gone. They really weren’t prepared for this.

“You think they’re trying to lure us out to get to you,” Lydia guesses and Stiles nods grimly.

“If you’re busy chasing down a bunch of rogue vampires, they’ll think you’re leaving me exposed. I’m barely strong enough to take _one_ of them on, never mind how many they’ll actually send to grab me. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

In the early days of being a captive, at least, before he began to feel the effects of their feedings. Those wounds had healed without leaving scars. Physical ones, anyway.

“Maybe you should be,” Scott says bluntly.

“Should be what?” Stiles squints at him, unsure of his meaning.

“Under our protection,” Scott clarifies. “At the very least, we shouldn’t leave you alone. Not while these vampires pose a threat.”

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, as if trying to search his expression for clues that only he would understand. “Actually, I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

“You’re suggesting we just let them take you?” Allison asks in growing disbelief. Scott looks similarly stunned at the idea, while Lydia just considers him in contemplative manner.

“No, I’m suggesting that you turn their trap back on them,” Stiles says. “Well, not _you_ specifically, but the pack as a whole.”

“And how do you think we should do that?” Scott asks after a slight hesitation, because it’s becoming clear that Stiles might have an idea.

“Okay, I only came up with this plan in the last few minutes, so bear with me, but it feels pretty solid already. So, well, based on the locations of the attacks, they’re trying to thin you out as much as possible. Weaken your defences, slow your response time, make it hard for you to gain an advantage over them. All the while, ensuring that me and my witch blood are left nice and exposed in the middle of the town. What I’m suggesting is that you pick a few of your ‘wolves, strong and fast in equal measures, and send them after the vampire attacks; but make it _look_ like you’re sending everyone, and leaving me alone. But some of you will actually be nearby, following me down a random road or whatever; and then, when Jerome and whoever he decides to bring with him show up for me, you turn the tables and attack them.”

“Like a kind of bait-and-switch?” Lydia tilts her head, considering his plan.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“It sounds good to me,” Scott says, glancing towards Derek for his opinion. He shrugs loosely, but he looks faintly troubled.

“It sounds good in theory but we learned yesterday that vampires are stronger than we give them credit for. And faster. Is it a good idea to only send a _few_ of our own to deal with them?”

“Actually, I’ve thought of that too,” Stiles says. “I mentioned this a little yesterday. A vampire nest is a lot like a werewolf pack. Take out the Alpha and the nest will become vulnerable. Jerome’s the Alpha, or the leader, and you’ll have to take him out, because if you _don’t_ kill him, he will kill _you_. Once you do, the rest of the nest will react to that. All the redbloods will abandon their orders to either defend the rest of the nest, or avenge their Alpha, or both. You’ll need your heaviest hitters already with you when that happens. You don’t _have_ to kill the rest of the nest, but you might _need_ to, because these guys will fight to the death. I’ve seen it, it’s not pretty.”

“Well, then it seems kind of pointless to send anyone after the vampire trails if they’re just gonna converge on Jerome during the fight,” Derek counters. “We could just set up the whole pack for the ambush, if you’re as good bait as you say you are.”

“Not quite,” Stiles’ mouth downturns seriously. “The reason you need to send a few members after the attackers is because of the darkbloods. They’ll be using the darkbloods to attack the humans, because they’ll leave the strongest and clearest scent trail, so they can split you up easier. Darkbloods don’t have the same loyalty to the nest as the rest of the vampires, and they are hard to control, so once Jerome goes down and his limited control over is gone, they’ll turn feral. That means they’ll be focused on feeding, turning, killing people. You’ll need to take them out. Luckily, Allison can help with that.”

Allison’s eyes go wide and she unconsciously rests her hand on her lower abdomen. “I can?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Isaac interjects quickly, wrapping his arm protectively around his girlfriend. “You said not to take any humans with us last night because these vampires were too dangerous, and now you want Allison out there, hunting them?”

“God, no, she definitely shouldn’t be out there. But the darkbloods will be attracted to her scent more than anyone else’s. You saw that in the woods the other day, with Casey. Well, anyone’s except for mine, but my scent will be busy and we really shouldn’t risk confusing them. I’m just suggesting you take a small vial of her blood with you, or something to that effect, and then break it when the time comes. The darkbloods will be drawn to it.”

“Why Allison?” Lydia asks curiously.

“She smells like a hunter,” Stiles lies without missing a beat, glancing at Allison to his right. “The darkbloods will see that as a threat and attack. Their primary instincts are survival.” Rather, the sweet, pregnancy hormones in her blood will be too enticing to ignore, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that until Allison is ready.

“And they won’t get confused with Allison herself, right?” Isaac asks uncertainly.

“Not if she stays in the pack house.” Stiles glances shiftily between the people in the room. “I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I warded it when you invited me up there last weekend.”

It takes a second for the room to react to that revelation. Allison and Isaac look mostly unperturbed but Lydia’s head snaps to him with a heated glare, while Scott’s eyes start glowing warningly and Derek’s eyebrows twist into one of his famous glowers, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“You did _what_?” Lydia’s voice is sharp and Stiles winces slightly.

“You don’t have the authority to do that,” Scott snaps, his Alpha tone leaking through. It doesn’t really do much for the witch, even if Isaac cowers slightly.

“No, absolutely not. But I did it anyway.”

The occult world isn’t so far removed from the human world that it has its own rules or laws or anything; but there are some basic etiquettes that you are generally expected to follow at all times, unless you _want_ to start a war. Such requirements include: that negotiations take place on neutral territory, so all involved parties are considered equal ground; or that if you’re affiliated with a pack or nest or any other occult family, you must communicate with any rival families or territories when passing through or staying on their land; or that the retaliation for any perceived slights must fit the crime.

Other, more general rules revolve around keeping the occult more or less a secret from most people; that the dead should be respected at all times; that humans are _always_ an innocent party in matters of the occult, with hunters being the exception; and the specifics of use of powers towards other members of the occult.

Witches are largely independent parties and although Stiles _is_ a member of a coven, he’s still considered a neutral third party as said coven doesn’t lay claim to any land. As such, he’s exempt from a number of the rules regarding territory; but not any regarding the use of his powers. Using his magic on the private property of the resident werewolf pack _without_ permission, and without being allied with them, is absolutely a breach of etiquette.

Not one he’s particularly ashamed of right now, though.

“What gave you the right?” Derek starts to snarl, overly-protective since it’s _his_ house that has technically been violated.

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay?” Stiles hurriedly cuts him off. “Yeah, I should have asked but I figured you would have said no, so I went with my prerogative. They’re _good_ sigils, they’re only there to help.”

“Not a big deal?” Scott echoes, his voice dangerously edged with anger. “You used magic, magic that we’re not familiar with, at the pack house without our permission or even our knowledge, and you think it’s not a big deal? Who knows what you’ve done? Thanks to your insistence that Deaton’s knowledge is wrong, we don’t have any way to verify that the sigils are what _you_ say they are, and not something else.”

“What, you don’t _trust_ me?” Stiles challenges sharply, bristling at the accusation. It’s a low blow, and it shows on Scott’s face, but he doesn’t care. “You honestly think I’d do something to hurt you. My Dad’s a part of your pack, I have a vested interest in making sure he’s safe. Besides,” he adds, with less hostility, glancing away for a moment, “we were friends once. I do still care about your well-being.”

A thick silence descends on the group. Scott’s demeanour slowly loosens; he still looks unhappy about Stiles’ actions, but the red of his eyes fades away and the stern line of his mouth shifts to something more uncertain.

“What sigils did you put up?” Lydia asks, her voice stern but slightly hesitant.

“There’s a teleportation sigil in the dining room. That’s how I got Allison out of the woods the other day, which, you’re welcome for,” Stiles glances pointedly at the huntress in question but doesn’t push his luck too far and quickly moves on. “There’s a bunch of, well, spy-proofing ones around the outside. They’ll prevent anyone tracking your scents to or inside of the house and prevent them from hearing anything from inside the house, unless they’re pack. And then there’s the fireproofing sigils at the four corners, so no one can burn it down again.”

“Wait, what?” Derek looks the most caught off-guard by that last part, his eyes widening in either shock or confusion. Or both, maybe. Stiles shrugs a shoulder.

“Figured that was something that was important to you.”

“And that’s all?” Scott asks, his eyes narrowing slightly. He’s still emanating the authoritative aura of being Alpha, but it’s beginning to fade.

“If it would help, I can show them to Lydia. She can even compare them to the ones in my grimoire. They’re _not_ bad sigils.”

Derek is still seemingly stunned at the knowledge that Stiles took him and his experiences into consideration when warding the house. It reminds Stiles a little of high school: the summer he’d tried to help Derek find the rest of his pack, and they’d spent a lot of time together; Derek always had a similar look on his face whenever Stiles would compliment him, intentional or not. Stuff like telling him he was becoming a good Alpha or that he was a good person or that he looked good in that leather jacket – he’d always seemed so disbelieving of it.

Stiles pushes those thoughts away. They’re dangerous to dwell on nowadays; he didn’t spend twelve years discovering himself and what he’s capable of, just to fall back into old habits two weeks after returning home.

Allison, who’s been sitting quietly during this exchange, while comforting Isaac, coughs delicately to interrupt. “So, uh, about the vampires?”

“Right, yeah,” Scott scrubs his hand tiredly over his face. “Stiles’ plan sounds solid. And, well, I don’t really have any better ideas.”

“If the vampires will be attracted to the smell of a hunter, maybe Chris could help?” Lydia suggests carefully, glancing at Allison. “If he’s up for it, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t really recommend it,” Stiles isn’t so easily caught in his earlier lie. “I’d still advise you to leave anyone who’s not a werewolf behind. If you’re not trained for this or you don’t have any supernatural abilities, these guys will kill you. Dead. And not the kind the nemeton can ever bring back.”

He doesn’t see the look of confusion that crosses over Scott’s face when he says that, or the glance Lydia exchanges with Allison, or Derek’s frown.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scott asks.

“It’s just a recommendation,” Stiles lifts his hands in a slight surrender. “I mean, if you want. As you keep reminding me, you’re the Alpha. I just think it would be best. Darkbloods aren’t easy to hunt.”

“Can we just,” Allison interrupts, waving her hand in the air, “take a moment to clarify on what exactly all these terms mean? Darkblood and redblood and whatnot?”

“Redbloods are natural vampires. Darkbloods aren’t. Darkbloods are the product of magic, to put it simply. It’s… It’s vampirism but _warped_.” Stiles looks increasingly uncomfortable as he speaks.

“What do you mean ‘natural’?” Lydia asks. “Like, what’s the difference?”

“Natural, like werewolves are natural. Redblood is a genetic trait. Or a mutation, depending on how you become one. Darkblood… Darkblood’s a disease.” It’s not discomfort. Stiles looks regretful, and more than a little sad. There’s clearly more to the story.

“And what kind is Jerome?” Allison questions, although there are a few more glances exchanged around the room at Stiles’ sobering demeanour.

“Redblood. But he’s the strongest in the nest. That’s why he’s the leader.”

“So how do we tell him apart from the other vampires?” Derek asks.

“Look for the eyes. Jerome’s a pureborn. His eyes will be gold. Most redbloods have red eyes and darkbloods have black eyes, usually.”

“Okay, and what’s a pureborn?” Lydia sounds exasperated, although whether it’s because she doesn’t already know, or because Stiles is just throwing these terms around without explanation, is hard to tell.

“Uh, a redblood vampire that can trace its bloodline directly back to the first vampire. They’re considered the purest form of vampire, and thus are the strongest. They’re also incredibly rare. There’s only five pureborns in existence right now.” The regretful tone is back and there’s a distant look in his eyes.

“Are there pureborn werewolves?” Isaac leans forward in his seat with interest.

“Sure,” Stiles shrugs. “Too many to tell the difference anymore. Derek could be a pureborn. A couple of your new pack mates. Technically, even Scott could be.”

“But I was bitten,” Scott points out, his brow twisting in confusion. “Not born.”

“Yeah, but there’s a werewolf somewhere in your ancestry. On your mother’s side, thankfully. She technically carries the genetic trait but it’s not strong enough to produce any actual were children. But then you got bitten so it ended up not mattering anyway. I mean, assuming you want to actually have kids.”

“I didn’t realize vampires could be born?” Lydia says, lifting a curious eyebrow.

“Most people don’t. Perks of being misrepresented through history. It’s a bit of a complicated story, though, and perhaps best left for when we have more time?” Stiles nods towards the wall clock just as it hits 9pm. “I do kind of need to go shopping before I head home.”

“Right, yeah,” Scott rubs the back of his neck. “Well, if we’re going after the vampires tomorrow, before they do any real damage, then maybe we can arrange a meeting later in the week to talk about this. I do want to hear this whole vampire story and I can bet I’m not the only one,” he spares a wry glance at his fiancée who simply arches her brow in a perfectly quizzical expression. Scott knows her too well and he can see the curiosity burning underneath.

“Works for me,” Stiles stands and stretches. “Just let me know and I’ll be there.”

He waves his goodbyes and slips out of the apartment while the rest of the group is wrapping up the night. There’s a slight pang in his chest as he does so; times like this, it’s somewhat blatant that he’s more of an outsider than a part of the group anymore. It’s partly his own fault, since he left in the first place and never kept in contact, but he still feels a little sore over it. He wonders what it would have been like, if he’d never left.

At least he’s building a tentative friendship with Scott again. And they clearly trust him enough to involve him in some of the pack business, to get his opinion and knowledge on it. Granted, it’s probably because he knows these vampires, but it’s better than nothing. A part of him stubbornly clings to the hope that maybe he’ll be invited back into the pack one day.

But there are too many variables around them right now to feel too comfortable with his tentative position. Jennifer for one, and the sacrifices. It’s all adding up to something, Stiles can feel it, but he’s not sure what.

And he’s not sure how much he likes it either.

*

**[Unknown, @ 9:40pm]** _Hey, I need to talk to you._

**[Stiles, @ 9:43pm]** _not to sound like a meme but new phone, who’s this?_

**[Unknown, @ 9:44pm]** _Cora Hale. I stole your number from Derek’s phone._

**[Stiles, @ 9:45pm]** _how does Derek have my number???_  
**[Stiles, @ 9:45pm]** _what can I help you with?_

**[Cora, @ 9:47pm]** _At the pack meeting last week, you mentioned being able to sense whether people were werewolves or not._

**[Stiles, @ 9:48pm]** _yeah, pretty much. like a witch’s heightened senses._

**[Cora, @ 9:50pm]** _I’m kind of having problems with my wolf side. In that I don’t seem to have one anymore and no one knows why. Deaton hasn’t been any help so I was wondering if you could take a look._

**[Stiles, @ 9:52pm]** _sure, I can try. how long have you been having this issue?_

**[Cora, @ 9:55pm]** _12 years._

**[Stiles, @ 9:56pm]** _what?_

**[Cora, @ 9:58pm]** _It’s a side effect of whatever the Darach used to poison me back in high school. Deaton said it was some kind of mistletoe thing; but he also said my wolf would come back and, well, it hasn’t, so maybe he was wrong._  
**[Cora, @ 10:01pm]** _You said that Druids don’t always know everything, so I’m beginning to wonder if this is one of those times. You seem to have a lot more knowledge and stuff, so maybe you know something that can help me._

**[Stiles, 10:03pm]** _uh, sure, I can take a look. no promises, though. 12 years without your wolf sounds like a more permanent problem than I’m used to dealing with._

**[Cora, @ 10:05pm]** _That’s fine. I just need to know that I tried everything._

**[Stiles, @ 10:06pm]** _no worries, just tell me when._  
**[Stiles, @ 10:12pm]** _Cora?_

**[Cora, @ 10:32pm]** _I just don’t feel like a whole person anymore._  
**[Cora, @ 10:34pm]** _Deaton said I’d get my wolf back. The Darach wasn’t supposed to turn me human. Except now I’m as weak as one and as useless as one so she might as well have._

**[Stiles, @ 10:37pm]** _I doubt I’m the first to tell you that you don’t need a wolf to be useful. Just look at Lydia or Allison or Danny. I’m sure you contribute more than you realize. And, well, even if she did turn you human, so what? the best revenge you can have is by kicking ass no matter what._

**[Cora, @ 10:40pm]** _Except I’m not kicking ass at being human. I tried to learn how to fight, like Derek did when he was human. But I failed at it._

**[Stiles, @ 10:41pm]** _Derek was human?_

**[Cora, @ 10:42pm]** _I don’t feel complete anymore. I just_  
**[Cora, @ 10:45pm]** _Derek said being human feels different. Like, a different kind of whole because there’s nothing missing. But I’m not human and I am missing something. And I dealt with it for so long but with everything happening lately, the ghouls, the vampires, I want to do more to help. And I can’t. And it sucks._  
**[Cora, @ 10:47pm]** _And yes, Derek was human for a while. Someone brought Kate Argent back to life and it was a whole mess._

**[Stiles, @ 10:48pm]** _Kate Argent? sounds like a story you can tell me in return for this._  
**[Stiles, @ 10:49pm]** _Scott’s throwing a pack meeting later this week. I’ll be there to regale you with the history of the vampires. I can check you out after, if that works for you._

**[Cora, @ 10:50pm]** _Yeah, that should be fine._  
**[Cora, @ 10:55pm]** _And, Stiles? Thanks._

**[Stiles, @ 10:57pm]** _anytime._

*

**April;  
10 years ago.**

_It’s just turned midnight and Stiles is now officially 20 years old._

_He’s not sure if it’s official in Beacon Hills but he’s too tired to figure out the time zones; it is the middle of the night after all, but he’s pretty sure California is behind him right now. He wonders if it’s truly official if it isn’t midnight back home._

_Well, in 23 hours and 58 minutes, it will be official all across the world so maybe it doesn’t really matter._

_Tatsuo and Eiko are fast asleep right now. They’re the “early to bed, early to rise” types and normally, they rub off on him but not tonight. His head is too noisy so he’s drinking tea and messing with illusions._

_They asked about celebrating today with him. He’s never been the party type – although once, that had been because he never had anyone to invite. And he’d tried, more than once, before it all became too much of a bad thing and eventually, he’d given up and settled for a more intimate gathering of his Dad and Scott and Melissa. Nowadays, he’s just happy to make it another year alive and mostly unscathed._

_Eiko’s going to make him one of her speciality dishes and maybe throw in a bit of kitsune fire magic to make him smile. Tatsuo has bought him some kind of alcoholic beverage called Shochu, with emphasis on **alcoholic**. It’s a coming-of-age thing; 20 is the legal drinking age in Japan, after all._

_He wonders if anyone back home remembers what today is._

_His Dad, definitely. Probably raises a shot of whiskey when it strikes midnight. Wishes him a happy birthday, and Stiles likes to pretend he can hear it._

_But what about Scott? Or Allison? Or even Lydia? Would they remember his birthday? Would they even care? It’s been over two years since he left; do they even still think about him? Does he deserve it if they do?_

_He always gets a little reflective around his birthday. Don’t get him wrong, he loves being out here, exploring the world, learning magic, figuring out who he is; but there’s a part of him that will never **not** be aware of what, or who, is missing. And it gets a little prominent around the holidays he used to celebrate with them._

_And what about Derek?_

_Dammit, he shakes his head and gulps his tea down. Every time, he tries to avoid going down that road and every time, the thought slips out anyway. He never celebrated his birthday with Derek; did he even know when it was?_

_Two and a half years away, all that time disconnected from Beacon Hills, and there’s still a tiny, undying part of him irreparably attached to the man._

_It hadn’t even been mutual. He clung to Derek that summer, trying to be helpful, and Derek let him tag along, probably just because he was bored and Stiles was good entertainment. That’s the only explanation. It had never been real; that’s why Derek had so easily fallen for Jennifer, because there had been nothing holding him back. Whereas Stiles can so easily fall in and out of relationships **because** he’s still clinging to some stupid notion that Derek would, **could**, ever love him back._

_He blinks back angry tears. There’s no point dwelling on the past. Especially the parts of it he can’t ever change. Derek chose Jennifer and they’re probably married and in love and have lots of little werewolf babies running around and it’ll be everything that Derek deserves and that Stiles wishes he could have given him._

_He gives in a little too easy to the desire to summon an illusion of a big, black wolf with striking red eyes. What he’d always imagined Derek’s wolf-side looking like. It’s little to no effort these days; he’d impressed Tatsuo with how quickly he’d mastered the ability after picking it up. The black wolf looks as lifelike as anything else in the room, but Stiles is painfully aware that it’s just an illusion. It’s just a dream._

_There’s a pang in his chest and with a sad smile, he waves the illusion away and drains the last of his tea._

_It’s his birthday for the next 23 hours and 56 minutes. It’s a day to celebrate surviving another year in this world, and to reflect on how far he’s come and how far he still has to go, and to get drunk on 40% Japanese alcohol, and to take a day off from magic practice._

_There’ll be plenty of time for sadness later._

*

**April 25th.**

“You’re going to see who!?” Derek’s surprised voice rings through the apartment.

“Stiles,” Cora replies, lacing up her boots. “I mean, not right now, but at the next pack meeting. Whenever that ends up being.”

“Why?” his eyebrows crease in confusion.

“Because I asked him to check out my wolf for me.”

“When did that happen?”

“Last night,” Cora shrugs defiantly. “I got his number from your phone and I texted him. How’d you get his number, by the way?”

Derek shakes his head in lieu of an answer. “What exactly do you think he’ll be able to do?”

“I don’t know but it never hurts to ask, right?”

“Cora,” Derek sighs wearily, “Deaton said your wolf will come back. It just takes time.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, Derek,” Cora cuts him off sharply. “It’s been twelve years and I’m tired of waiting. Stiles knows things, he might be able to help. And even if he can’t, at least he tried.”

“You don’t have to prove anything…”

“This isn’t about that anymore. I mean, yeah, I hate feeling so useless, especially when there’s vampires in town and people being sacrificed in the woods, but this is different.”

“Look, I’ve been there. I’ve been human before, I remember how hard it was but Deaton helped me get my wolf back then and if you talk to him, I’m sure he’ll help you too. There are other options here.”

“Like what?” Cora snaps, clenching her fists in frustration. “No offense, Derek, but you don’t know what this is like. Not the way I do, okay? I’m not _human_, she didn’t turn me _human_. I’m a werewolf without my wolf. I’m missing a quintessential part of my being. I feel like half a _person_!”

“Just… are you sure you can trust him?”

“Stiles?” Cora frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“He warded the pack house,” Derek points out. “I told you this last night.”

“Yeah, and from the sounds of it, the wards are designed to help.”

“So he says but we have no way to verify that.”

Cora looks at him for a long moment. “I don’t understand you. One minute, you’re all for him using magic to help with the vampires and the next you’re against him using magic when it helps us. Get your head on straight, and figure out how you feel about him already.”

Derek blinks, oddly thrown by the last remark; it hangs uncomfortably in the air. “What do you mean, how I feel?”

“I don’t know, whether you trust him or not. Whether you like him or not. Whether you want him to use his magic. I don’t care, just figure it out already!”

His head struggles to make sense of what she’s saying. His wolf is reacting too strongly, fighting to the surface. “Why would I like him?” he asks dumbly.

Cora looks exasperated with him. “You were the one who told me he spent his summer break back in high school helping you find… the Alpha Pack. That sounds like something that you’d build a kind of mutual respect for each other over. And he’s not a bad person. That’s generally a good criteria for liking someone.”

“He’s been gone for twelve years. We have no idea who he is anymore. And the only reason he helped me was because he liked me, remember? That’s why…” Derek stops for a moment; his wolf begins to recede as his more rational thoughts kick in. “That’s why he hates Jennifer.”

“Is it?” Cora asks; her frustration has ebbed away to something softer.

“What else would it be?”

“Maybe he didn’t like Jennifer because of how you treated him. He really liked you, Der. A lot. And I always thought…”

“Thought what?” Derek asks when she doesn’t continue.

Cora looks at him and there’s something unreadable in her eyes. She remembers back then, seeing them for the few brief times they were together, before Jennifer came into the picture. She hadn’t really known Stiles very well, and she had been very out-of-touch with Derek too, but they’d just seemed so in sync.

She also remembers seeing how hurt Stiles had been just a few weeks later.

“Cora?” Derek prods.

“Never mind,” she finally says. “It’s not important. You should really figure out if he’s worth trusting or not, though. It’s not fair on anyone if you keep flipping between the two.”

“It’s not that easy,” he argues. “Look at what’s happened in the time since he came back. The sacrifices, the ghouls and now the vampires. What if he’s the reason for it?”

“What’s the supposed to mean?” Cora narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Derek hesitates. He’s not sure where those words came from but something about them rings true, and not just because he knows the vampires _are_ hunting him. “Nothing,” he sighs under Cora’s piercing gaze. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just something that’s been bothering me.”

“He wasn’t even in town when these sacrifices started happening. And he didn’t know about the ghouls until they turned up in the clearing. And he’s been _hiding_ from these vampires, he didn’t lure them here specifically. Case-in-point, he’s using himself as bait to help get rid of them. That’s pretty brave, given what they apparently did to him.”

Derek winces slightly. He hasn’t told anyone what details Stiles had shared of his experiences. His fear is visible, even if it can’t be scented, whenever they’re on the topic of Jerome and there’s probably a lot more to the trauma than Stiles had been willing to reveal.

“It’s a mutual self-interest,” he points out. “We don’t want these vampires on our territory and Stiles doesn’t want them hunting him any longer. Two birds, one stone and it doesn’t mean we can trust him.”

“And yet every time we’re on the topic, Stiles is arguing that these vampires are outliers, and don’t represent the species as a whole, despite how much they fit the lore we have on them. If this was just about getting rid of them, he wouldn’t care that much.”

“Still doesn’t mean we can trust him,” Derek repeats. “We have no proof that vampires are what he says they are. We can’t just take his knowledge at face value.”

“We do when it’s Deaton’s. And given these recent attacks, it’s clear that one of them is wrong. Stiles certainly hasn’t been surprised by anything they’ve done. And his knowledge is working out in our favour.”

Derek can’t really argue with that, unfortunately. A frown settles across his features. “That doesn’t mean he’s on our side about anything else.”

“What’s this really about?” Cora asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’re mad at him because he left Scott. But Scott doesn’t think he’s responsible for any of this. He trusts him, doesn’t he?”

“What’s your point?” Derek asks flatly.

Cora presses her lips together. “It’s Jennifer, isn’t it? She doesn’t trust him, does she?”

“Can you blame her? He accused her of being an evil Druid because he was jealous of her. What’s to stop him from doing it again? She’s my girlfriend, Cora, we’ve been together for twelve years. She deserves my protection.”

“Yeah,” Cora nods slowly. “Twelve years is a long time. Longer than anyone else in the pack. Scott and Lydia are getting married. Allison and Isaac probably won’t be far behind. What about you? Ever thought of putting a ring on it?”

“We don’t want to get married,” Derek states easily. “It doesn’t change our relationship.”

“Yeah? Is that a mutual decision?”

Derek hesitates, his expression morphing from aggravation to stun to bewilderment. Cora looks defiantly vindicated at his uncertainty.

“I’m not talking about this with you,” Derek finally snaps, finding his words. “It’s none of your business.”

“Fine,” she acquiesces evenly, grabbing her jacket. “I have to go, anyway. I’m already late to meeting Felix for coffee.”

She saunters out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her; leaving Derek feeling like his entire world just tilted a few degrees to the left.

*

Noah sifts through the pile of paperwork scattered across his desk. It’s a quiet afternoon, thankfully, which means he’s actually able to make progress through all the reports and signatures needed, instead of just adding to it.

There’s a knock at his door and Isaac pokes his head into the office. “Hey, Sheriff.”

Noah smiles fondly. “Isaac. Didn’t I give you the day off?”

“You did but I thought I’d stop by anyway. With the vampires in town, there hasn’t been much focus on the sacrifices lately. It’s probably a good idea to touch base and all that.”

Noah gives him a knowing look. “Heard you weren’t interested in that side of things.”

Isaac shrugs, faintly embarrassed. “I-I’m not, really. I still think it’s kind of pointless when every report is the same but… I’m doing it for Scott.”

“Well, feel free to take a look. It’s buried in here somewhere,” Noah gestures to the papers on his desk, shuffling through a few pages about a recent break-in.

Isaac carefully edges through the files until he finds the one he’s looking for. He settles into the seat across from the Sheriff and takes a look through it. “Adrianna Morgan. The sixth disappearance. They seem to be killing them in the order they were taken.”

“She owned a bakery in the centre of town,” Noah adds, as Isaac reads that exact piece of information. “Angel’s Delights, or something like that. We used to order donuts from them. I think they had to shut down when she was taken.”

“I liked their donuts,” Isaac mumbles mournfully, before squinting at the preliminary autopsy report. “They took her tongue? That’s an odd body part.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing in this case,” Noah responds dryly. “A tongue almost makes sense next to a spine. There’s a history of cutting out tongues, I’m sure.”

Isaac frowns thoughtfully. “She was a baker. That probably required a lot of taste-testing.”

“You think it’s relevant?”

“Lydia would. She thinks there’s some kind of connection between the people and the body parts taken. Jeffery Williams was a teacher. Leah Scott was a firefighter. Stella Lopez, a photographer and Kelsi Jones, a musician.”

“That was the brain… the spine, the eyes and… the ears, right?” Noah quickly clarifies, shuffling through his papers again for his notebook buried underneath, to no avail.

“Yeah, there’s some kind of pattern but I just can’t get past the magician guy. I don’t understand how his face is relevant to party magic. He’d use his hands for that, right?”

“I’d assume so,” Noah replies, a faint memory of Stiles’ young magic phase stirring in his mind. There’s some kind of irony, he thinks, in his son being obsessed with magic tricks for a while and then later turning out to be a witch.

“Even Stiles uses his hands when he’s doing his magic. Which, by the way, is kind of insane. I never would have expected him to turn out to be one of us.”

Noah lets his gaze drift, reminiscing a little. “Claudia had always been special in a way I could never put my finger on. I never would have guessed witch, but it… it doesn’t surprise me the way I thought it might have. He always was too much like her.”

“So you never knew?” Isaac leans forward, curious despite himself. The Sheriff doesn’t talk much about his late wife.

“That she was a witch? No, it never crossed my mind,” Noah chuckles. “I guess she gave it up before we met. Stiles said… she was supposed to teach him, but they never made it that far. Claudia fell ill too early.”

There’s something niggling at him, in the far back of his mind. A memory or something he can’t quite place, triggered by his own words. Noah frowns, trying to form the feeling into a coherent thought.

“Does he talk to you about his magic?” Isaac asks. “And his time away?”

“He does,” Noah responds, levelling his deputy with a look, before amending, “Most of it, anyway. The important stuff.”

Like learning magic. And his first girlfriend. And then his first boyfriend. And all the places he visited and people he met and things he did.

“Did he tell you about these vampires?”

“No,” Noah admits after a beat. “He didn’t tell me about that. I remember going six months without any postcards but I just thought he was busy and had forgotten.”

Stiles hadn’t told him about it afterwards either. He’d only found out recently when Scott had reached out to him about the vampires in town. It explains a few of the nightmares Stiles had been having when he’d first returned home – and the ones he’s probably having in that apartment now, except now there’s no one to comfort him afterwards.

The two men fall into a contemplative silence as they pore over their files. Noah is beginning to make headway on all the forms that need his approval and authorization and all the reports that need to be filed. Isaac makes mental notes to relay to Scott at a later date about the newest sacrifice. There’s still no consistent connection between the victims, other than all being targets of whoever’s killing them.

“Have you come up any theories about this ritual?” Noah asks, after a few minutes.

“Frankenstein,” Isaac replies without looking up.

“The monster?”

“He was actually the scientist, but yeah.”

“I’m familiar with the story,” Noah says, fondly exasperated. “You think they’re trying to build a body?”

“It’s a theory. Not just any body, but the perfect one. It kind of fits with the bodies missing parts that are important or relevant to their lives. Their best attributes, in a way: knowledge, strength, perception, hearing, taste apparently, and whatever the magician represents.”

“Maybe his best attribute is how he looks,” Noah suggests, a little awkwardly.

“Uh, I’m not really an expert on that,” Isaac blushes faintly. “Most of the people I hang out with are werewolves. Besides, everyone’s attractive in the right light.”

“What about any connection to the last time there were sacrifices?”

Isaac bites his lip. “We’ve considered that it’s, uh,” he lowers his voice a little, “the Darach again, but it’s just another theory. We have no way to prove it and she hasn’t been as up front about it this time if it is her. And, uh, we obviously don’t know what the ritual is so there’s no way to tie it to anyone. Not for lack of trying. Cora and Felix must have raided every library in the state at this point. Even Peter’s reaching out to contacts for info. We think he’s just curious,” he adds at Noah’s raised eyebrows. “He wasn’t really interested in helping until the bodies started turning up. He doesn’t really like not knowing.”

“He’s not the only one,” Noah mutters, just as Isaac makes a thoughtful sound, frowning at the page in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

“It says here the body was discovered at noon.”

“Thereabouts, yes.”

“Derek found Kelsi Jones around noon. And Jeffery Morgan, that call came in at the same time. I was there for it.”

“I think they were all found around that time. Is that important?”

“It’s not like no one goes into the preserve in the morning,” Isaac says. “And all the bodies being found around the same time? That’s too consistent to be a coincidence.”

“Killed at midnight, dumped at noon?”

“Not noon,” Isaac replies, his eyes lighting up. “_12pm_.”

“Fits with their MO,” Noah says. “That does seem intentional.”

“Are we sure only 11 people were taken?”

Noah once again searches through the paperwork for his missing notebook. “Positive. We canvassed the town three or four times to be sure. All residents were accounted for.” He pauses and glances towards Isaac. “Maybe the 12th victim is something different. Maybe this Darach supposed to be the final sacrifice and then they’re reborn into this perfect body.”

Isaac hums to himself, considering the idea. “I’ll run it past Scott and the others, see what they think. Anything’s possible right now.”

They’re interrupted by a knock on the door. One of Noah’s other deputies, Summers, enters the room cautiously. He waves a few sheets of paper.

“The report you wanted, sir, on the body in the woods. I’m just about to head off-duty so I thought I’d drop it off before I left.”

“Thanks, Summers, just add it to the pile,” Noah gestures at his desk. Summers drops the papers and backs towards the door, but stops just before leaving. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Well, sir, I was actually wondering if, um,” Summers glances nervously at Isaac. “It’s might be a bit personal, sir, I don’t want to be unprofessional or anything.”

“Just spit it out,” Noah sighs, but not without warmth. He likes Summers, a young deputy, still a little fresh-faced in Beacon Hills; but he’s very empathetic and good with people which helps with morale around the office. “We’re all co-workers here.”

Isaac looks a little deer-in-the-headlights as he glances between the two. Summers twists his hands together anxiously but nods.

“I was just wondering… uh, Stiles, right? He’s your son?”

Noah’s eyebrows shift upwards. “Yes. I introduced you two when he came back, didn’t I?”

“Uh, you did, sir. I was, um, asking because… Do you happen to know if he’s uh, single?” Summers is definitely blushing now, staring hard at the floor.

“I think you’d be better off asking him that,” Noah points out, a little bemused. He can’t say he _hadn’t_ noticed a little attraction when he’d introduced the two, but he can say he hadn’t expected to be brought into it.

“Well, yes, that makes sense. And I will, it’s just…” Summers takes a quick breath. “Would you have any objections to, uh, me taking him out on a date?”

“Again, that sounds like something you should be asking him.”

“I know, but you’re my boss and I don’t want to make things awkward or uncomfortable. So I just wanted to make sure it was okay first.”

Noah smiles faintly at the young officer. “Well, Stiles is his own person and if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that my objections mean nothing where he’s concerned. But as long as you treat him right, I don’t have any.”

Summers nods gratefully, relaxing slightly. “Thank you, sir. Uh, sorry to interrupt your meeting. I’ll just be heading out now.”

Noah chuckles lightly as the door swings shut behind the man. “That was unexpected.”

“Is Adrian even Stiles’ type?” Isaac asks carefully.

“Don’t see why he wouldn’t be,” Noah responds, grabbing Summers’ report for a quick skim over. “But I’m not quite as informed of Stiles’ relationships as everyone seems to think I am,” he spares a pointed glance at Isaac over the top of the file.

Isaac shrugs unapologetically. “I gotta get going. Allison needs me to grab some shopping on the way home. Apparently she ran out of peanut butter.”

“Ah, one of life’s true necessities,” Noah jokes before sobering. “Be careful out there, Isaac. And stay safe tonight, okay?”

Isaac nods firmly, his expression tight, before he slips out of the office, leaving Noah with a slightly smaller mountain of paperwork to work through.

*

“Okay, is everybody clear on the plan?” Scott asks the room at large.

The air is filled with the kind of anticipation that usually comes before a battle. It’s not a common feeling around here, due to their largely peaceful nature, but there’s been a few fights over the years.

It’s different this time. Their enemy is different. And they have a new ally now, in the form of a witch.

Stiles stands in the corner, just off to the side of the pack. He looks calm and prepared for the coming fight, but he’s jiggling his leg a little, he keeps glancing towards the windows and doors, and, most noticeably, his knife has been summoned to his hands. The black ink of his tattoos peek out from under his sweater and there’s the glint of jewellery in his ears and around his neck.

“How long do you want us to wait until we start intercepting the vampires?” Isaac asks. He’s been tasked with tracking the vampire attacks, along with David and Felix.

“Stiles says they’ll react as soon as Jerome is down,” Scott says, glancing towards the witch for confirmation. “So as long as we do our part, it shouldn’t be too long. Just make sure you keep them in close proximity. The quicker you intervene, the less damage there’ll be.”

“And I suppose the rest of us are just supposed wait around here doing nothing?” Cora folds her arms stiffly, frustration radiating from her.

“If Stiles’ warding does what he says it does,” Scott spares another firm glance at the witch, “then this’ll be the safest place for you. Sammi’s staying back to keep an eye on things.”

“She’s babysitting us, you mean?” Cora sneers slightly, rolling her eyes.

“Cora,” Derek warns gently.

“She’s not babysitting you,” Scott reprimands. “It’s as much for her safety as it is for yours.”

Sammi shuffles uncomfortably on the spot, reminded of her last encounter with the vampires, and Cora has enough decency to look ashamed.

“Sorry,” she apologizes to her pack mate. “I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s fine,” Sammi assures with a smile, nudging her gently.

“Stiles,” Scott turns to his old friend, “you good to go?”

Stiles nods once, his lips pressed tightly together. He looks like he’s on the verge of throwing up and under his glamours, his heart is thudding its way to a panic attack. It’s one thing to confront Felipe and his cronies; but to willingly come face to face with Jerome and everything the vampire did to him… well, it leaves his stomach churning.

At Scott’s encouragement, he slips out the door into the preserve and starts heading back towards town. He has to do this first part on his own, give the pack time to split up and track down the rogue attackers. Once he deactivates his glamours, Scott, Derek, Lydia and the twins are gonna backtrack towards him, by which point the vampires will also be on him. He’s gonna take some of the quiet roads on the outskirts of town to avoid witnesses or collateral damage.

The walk gets increasingly daunting but he distracts himself by humming songs and exercising his magic and trying to think of literally anything other than the threat he’s about to walk into.

The moon is dim in the sky, offering little light. Stiles reaches the edge of town and follows a road that lines along the trees of the preserve. Being close to his primary element gives him a, heh, _element_ of comfort.

Once he feels he’s given the pack enough time to fake splitting up, he fiddles with the charm bracelet around his wrist and deactivates his glamour.

His heart thuds loudly in his ears and even though there’s nothing physically different about him now, he still feels oddly naked. For the last few years, he’s found a reassurance in knowing that his scent and heartbeat are disguised and only he knows the truth. But right now he’s disconcertingly aware that anything with a sense of smell in town will be able to track him and find him all alone in the middle of the road.

A pair of blood-red eyes gleam at him through the darkness.

Stiles draws up short. “Felipe,” he says, putting more bravery into his voice than he actually feels right now.

“Hey, Stiles,” Felipe takes a step towards a dim streetlight, a smirk in his voice. Stiles involuntarily takes a step back and bumps into another hard body. He can sense the two vampires standing soundlessly behind him; neither are Jerome.

He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to run,” Felipe continues casually, but his fangs glint between his words. “You wouldn’t make it very far.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Stiles replies, fighting to keep his voice even and neutral.

“No?” Felipe grins at him, taking another step, and Stiles resists every instinct telling him to get the hell out of there. “I can smell the fear in your blood. I can even hear your weak little heart pumping it around your body. It’s delicious.”

Stiles hopes Scott gets here soon. “Personally I prefer a side of sarcasm with my blood but to each his own, right?”

Felipe laughs. “Good to see you still have your little jokes. I’ll be honest, I hated how Jerome leeched the life out of you. Your act of bravado was always so entertaining. This guy used to have a smart quip for every comment,” he adds.

Stiles’ heart sinks a little lower when he realizes Felipe is addressing three more vampires who are now closing in around him in a circle. Just a little bit longer, he can feel Scott at the edge of his awareness.

“So where is the boss man anyway? Am I not good enough for him to get his claws dirty? And here I thought I was important.”

“Don’t worry,” Felipe drawls, a slow predatory smile widening over his face. “You’ll see him soon enough. He’s very eager to see you again.”

A very different pair of red eyes glow through the darkness behind Felipe. Stiles’ heartrate drops just a fraction.

“What’s he waiting for? I’m right here, aren’t I?” Stiles throws his arms wide, keeping the attention on him as the other wolves reach the area and Lydia creeps up somewhere on the left. Thankfully, the vampires will be too focused on the scent of his magic to smell anything else.

“So impatient,” Felipe sneers but the rest of his words are lost to Stiles as Scott nods imperceptibly. In one swift movement, he snatches his stake from his belt and slams it into one of the vampires standing behind him. Lightning-fast reflexes don’t mean shit if you don’t have the brain power to use them.

The vampire shrieks in pain as he stumbles back. Stiles has missed his heart but it’s enough of a distraction for the wolves to pounce on the rest of the group.

Scott goes for Felipe, who unfortunately _does_ have the brain power for fast reflexes and dives out of the way. Two more vampires drop into the street to intercept the twins, while Derek and Lydia surge up to take on the other three prowling around the edges.

Stiles’ stake is still buried in the injured vampire, so he’s forced to summon his primary knife to take on the other vampire standing behind him.

Scott and Felipe are evenly matched, exchanging blow for blow. Derek’s a little out-numbered but he’s an Alpha and a born wolf at that; Stiles glimpses with a badly-timed curiosity as he shifts into his full-wolf form which seems to even out the playing field. Across the scene, the twins are luring their opponents away from the rest of the group, in order to use the terrain against them.

Lydia’s always been a badass but between being a banshee and learning how to fight, she’s somehow learned to weaponize her screams and it is effective at throwing her enemy across the battlefield. It’s her first time fighting vampires, though, and she’s putting too much power into her screams, which is slowing her down and simultaneously affecting the wolves.

Stiles uses a fireball to knock back his own opponent and ducks under Derek’s fight to snag her arm quickly. “Scream fast, not loud. A vampire’s hearing isn’t that sensitive.”

She nods and Stiles retreats back to his fight, blinding one of Derek’s vampires with another fireball as he does so.

“Where’s Jerome!?” Scott yells through a mouthful of fangs, as he pins Felipe to the ground. This is taking too long, and there’s been no sign of a vampire with golden eyes.

“I don’t know!” Stiles shouts back, faintly panicked but mostly frustrated. He hasn’t been able to sense the pureborn either. Of all the times for Jerome to resist the smell of magic blood…

Felipe laughs, using the distraction to flip Scott to the ground instead. “Didn’t realize you were so eager to see him again, witch!”

Stiles grits his teeth and slams his vampire opponent to the ground, before grabbing his knife and casting a circle of protection around him. He takes a few seconds to breathe before focusing his magic to sweep the area for any sign of the pureborn vampire.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters. He just needs to find Jerome, to try to lure him towards the fight, or even try to take him out himself. That’s the whole point of this; but it’ll be a waste of time and energy if they can’t kill him and disrupt the nest to their advantage.

“_Lydia!_” Scott roars, his panic-stricken voice cutting straight through Stiles’ concentration.

Stiles snaps his attention back towards the fight, dropping his circle of protection. In the few minutes he wasn’t paying attention, Felipe had distracted Scott long enough for Stiles’ opponent and the injured vampire – who still has Stiles’ stake sticking in his chest – to intervene and pull the Alpha away from the fight, while Felipe had turned his attention towards his fiancée.

Lydia’s on the ground, clutching her side. There’s a touch of blood in the air, and she looks pained as she attempts to manoeuvre away from Felipe, who’s bearing down on her threateningly. The vampire she had been fighting is sprawled out on a car, currently unconscious but that won’t last long. Derek’s waylaid by his own fight, and Ethan and Aiden are too far away to be any help.

“_Lydia!_” Scott yells desperately, his vision blurring with tears, trying to fight past his attackers holding him back. “_No, no! Lydia!_” He can’t breathe, and everything slows down in front of him, rendered helpless to do anything but watch.

Felipe grins cruelly, pouncing towards the vulnerable Banshee; she opens her mouth to scream and knock him back but she’s too slow…

_Oh, god, he going to kill her!_

There’s a flash of red in between Lydia and the vampire. Stiles raises his hand towards Felipe, a fireball forming in his palm. Felipe launches himself at the witch with a laugh, fangs bared, claws out. Stiles’ hand slams the fireball into his chest.

The entire clearing goes white.

And there’s a tortured scream Scott will never forget.

And then silence.

The light fades from the clearing just as quickly as it appeared.

Someone chokes out a cough.

Scott opens his eyes slowly. The light dazzled him and he blinks a couple of times to clear his vision. The air has turned thick and dusty around them.

The vampires are gone.

With a start, he thinks of Lydia. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbles through the dusty air to where he’d last seen his fiancée.

“Lydia!” he calls, coughing slightly in the dust. Derek is stirring near him, shaking his fur and sneezing roughly. “Derek, you okay?”

Derek’s ears twitch and his head jerks in a nod, as he pads gently across the ground to nudge against Scott’s leg. Then he turns and heads to where they’d last seen the twins.

“Lydia!” Scott calls again, wiping dust from his eyes. “Lydia?”

“I’m here, Scott,” her voice is soft and a little strained, but she’s alive and she’s okay. Relief floods through his system as he spots her red hair through the darkness. He falls to his knees next to her, cupping her face and running his hands over her shoulders, reassuring himself that she’s alive.

“I’m here,” she repeats. “I’m okay.” She catches his hands with her own and presses a reassuring kiss to his wrist. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” he echoes back at her, his shoulders slumping in relief. He smooths a touch of dirt from her cheek and draws her in for a kiss. She’s okay. “Your side,” he bolts up, as the scent of blood reaches him through the cloudy air. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not that bad,” she squeezes his hand. “Won’t even need stitches, I promise.” She gently pulls at her top to reveal four long thin cuts along her waist. They’re not deep and only just broke through the skin. Scott reaches to draw some of her pain.

She’s okay.

And that’s when Scott remembers why.

“Stiles?”

In his mind’s eye, he sees the flash of a red hoodie as Stiles jumps between Felipe and Lydia. He’d been at the centre of the white light, whatever it had been. Stiles had mentioned teleporting before, but Scott doesn’t remember a flash of light when he’d teleported Allison out of the woods the other day.

“Stiles!” he glances around Lydia, trying to pinpoint where his old friend had been standing a few minutes ago. Through the darkness, he spots the glimmer of red a few feet away, faintly lit up by a nearby streetlight. He stands shakily and makes his way over.

Stiles is hunched over on the ground, cradling his ribs. His heartbeat thuds heavily in Scott’s ears, slightly unsteady, and there’s another faint tang of blood and… something else. Stiles doesn’t appear to be moving, but there’s a gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Stiles,” he says gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Stiles lets out a ragged breath. “Yeah,” he rasps out, shocking Scott with the hoarseness of his voice. He coughs slightly and there’s another whiff of blood, as he spits on the ground and wipes his mouth. When he turns to look at Scott, there are faint specks of red on his lips.

“Are you sure?” Scott presses his hand against the back of Stiles’ neck, as if to physically check and flinches back at the ache he suddenly absorbs. “Stiles,” he drops to his knees next to his old friend, concern written across his features, “you’re in pain.”

“I know,” Stiles croaks, waving off Scott’s attempts to absorb more. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if you’re coughing up blood,” Scott argues. “How bad is it?”

Stiles just shakes his head. “It’s fine, Scott.” He’d probably be more reassuring if his vocal cords didn’t sound like they’d been shredded.

“What exactly did you do? What happened to the vampires?”

“I, uh,” Stiles coughs again, wiping away some more blood, “I killed them.”

“How?” Lydia asks from behind.

“I burned them,” he answers simply. Scott blinks and realizes that the dust in the air isn’t dust, but ash. The ash of seven vampires that they’d all been fighting mere minutes ago.

“Whoa,” he breathes. “That’s what that light was?”

“Fire,” Stiles nods slowly. His ears are ringing a little. “Hot enough to incinerate on impact.”

“How come it didn’t hurt us?” Lydia asks.

“Wasn’t supposed to,” Stiles smiles weakly.

“What about Jerome?” Scott asks urgently.

Stiles shakes his head regretfully. “He wasn’t here. Didn’t sense him. Sorry.” He shudders a little, between the pain of his magic and the frustration, or is it fear, of Jerome still being alive.

“It’s not your fault,” Scott curls his hand loosely around Stiles’ wrist. “Let me, please.”

Stiles frowns but relents a little. “Fine,” he whispers.

“I didn’t think magic was supposed to hurt,” Lydia comments, watching the dark black lines run up Scott’s arm.

“‘S’not,” Stiles mumbles, relaxing a touch as his pain lessens. “I did it wrong.”

“How wrong do you have to do it to cause yourself to bleed?” Scott asks, frowning hard at the blood around Stiles’ lips.

“Pretty wrong,” Stiles attempts another smile, wincing as it tugs on his cracked lips. “I did it too hot too fast. You’re supposed to build up the heat to that kind of level, not straight-up produce it. Or it feels like you burned yourself from the inside out.”

The kind of power he had to output in order to produce fire that hot in the magnitude that cremated seven vampires on impact, that’s what tore him apart. That’s why he’s coughing up blood, why he’s in so much pain, why his throat is raw. He doesn’t even want to consider what his leg looks like, where his fire tattoo is.

He’s heard stories like this before, about people who burned themselves alive from their own power output. There’s even the one about the guy who drowned because he turned all the water vapour in the air, including the air inside his lungs, to actual water. But it’s never happened to him before. It might have been because of the vampires, though.

“Scott,” Derek’s voice cuts through their conversation. All three look at him, although Stiles quickly averts his eyes when he realizes the werewolf is naked. “No sign of Jerome but the vampires started attacking people. Isaac’s calling for help.”

Scott nods and glances at Lydia. “Stiles needs help getting home.”

“No, I don’t,” Stiles quickly cuts in, suppressing another cough. “I’ll be fine. Your pack won’t be if you don’t go, though.”

“You’re coughing up blood,” Scott points out sternly. “And I’m still taking pain from you.”

“And once I get home, I can fix that. Your pack needs you. I don’t.” Stiles pulls his wrist away. “I already feel better. I’ll be fine.”

He stands up as if to prove his point, and although he’s a little shaky, he doesn’t immediately collapse, so he counts it as a win. Scott looks like he’s going to argue, but Lydia puts a hand on his arm.

“His apartment isn’t far from here,” she says. “If he says he’s fine, he’ll be fine. Right?”

“Exactly,” Stiles gestures at her. He’s beginning to feel the exhaustion from his power use, but he doesn’t let it show, reactivating his glamours. Scott winces a little at the sudden lack of scent in the air and his dulled heartbeat but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Stop by the pack house tomorrow,” he says, and technically Stiles isn’t one of his betas so he can’t really be ordered around but Stiles doesn’t really complain, shrugging in agreement.

“Sure. Now go before things get any worse.”

He waits until they’re all out of sight and out of sound, collecting his stake as he does so, before he turns and starts heading home. His entire body feels like it’s on fire and his mouth is filled with the tang of blood but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. Not just for getting rid of the vampires, but also saving Lydia’s life.

The streets are quiet as he walks home, hunching down in his hoodie, feeling slightly more comfortable now that his glamours are back up.

That is, until he feels eyes on his back.

He slows to a stop, glancing around for anything suspicious. Did Scott secretly follow him home anyway, despite his assurances that he’s okay?

His fire spell must have taken more out of him that he’d realized, because it takes him far too long to realize that he’s not alone; and even longer to figure out who’s behind him.

He takes a step back, reaching for his knife and that’s when something – or someone – slams into him and sends him sprawling across the ground of a dark alley. Dazed, he struggles to get his bearings, just as a boot levels a sharp kick at his ribs that knocks him onto his back. A knee lands on his chest and presses him into the ground with its full weight.

Gold eyes gleam hungrily at him and vicious fangs glint sickeningly in the faint streetlight.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Jerome drawls, leaning down. “Miss me?”

Stiles’ blood goes cold.

“I missed you,” Jerome continues, grinning wickedly. “It’s been far too long since I had a taste of my favourite witch. I was so disappointed when you left me. It hurt my feelings. Didn’t I treat you right?”

He laughs like he just made the funniest joke in the world, rocking his weight back and forth on Stiles’ chest. Stiles coughs involuntarily, struggling to get air consistently into his lungs. It reminds him too much of his time in the cage.

“What, nothing to say?” Jerome taunts. “No ‘I missed you too’, no ‘sorry’, not even a measly little ‘please don’t hurt me’? Oh, how you disappoint.”

Stiles searches for his magic. He doesn’t have much left but he doesn’t need much to get away. Just something to incapacitate Jerome to put some distance between them. He’s exhausted, though, and still aching from his last spell.

Jerome rocks forcefully on top of him and an ugly crack fills the air, drowned out by Stiles’ choked cry at the fresh pain blooming across his ribs. Adrenaline surges through his veins and there’s just enough power to throw Jerome back into a dumpster with a blast of energy, freeing Stiles from the ground.

He scrambles to his feet, cradling his broken rib. “How about: ‘learned that from a friend’.”

Jerome’s eyes flash threateningly but he lets out a laugh. “Ah, that’s more like it. I was beginning to think all the fight had gone out of you. You always were more fun when you had to be broken first.”

Stiles reaches subtly for his stake. Jerome’s fast but if Stiles can just predict his movements he might be able to get a good hit in. “You never broke me.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, pretty boy, you remember it just as well as I do,” Jerome rolls his eyes, beginning to pace in a circle around Stiles. Stiles turns with him, keeping him in line of sight at all times. Jerome looks increasingly smug.

“Let’s be honest here, you’re still a little broken, aren’t you? I left my mark on you and you’ll never forget it.”

It hurts to breathe against his broken ribs, but Stiles fights to stay calm. Jerome’s just trying to build the tension; any second now, he’s gonna jump at Stiles and use the shock to his advantage to attack.

As if on cue, Jerome lunges forward, his full speed barely more than a blur, but Stiles grits his teeth and swings his stake in for a strike. He just needs that one lucky hit and then he can get out of here.

Jerome catches his wrist before he can make contact and snaps it in one easy twist. Stiles lets out a cry, dropping the stake. Jerome keeps twisting, using the pain coursing up his arm to force Stiles onto his knees. He lowers himself to the same level.

“Now, why’d you go and do that?” he tuts. “You’re gonna make me angry, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“I don’t like you period,” Stiles grits out, his breathing laboured from the pain, and he brings up his other hand to stab Jerome in the shoulder with his other knife.

Jerome looks blankly down at the knife, as if he isn’t sure what it is, and it’d almost be comical if Stiles’ heart hadn’t been working its way into tachycardia. He needs to find a way out and fast, before Jerome does any more damage.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you stabbing people isn’t nice?”

He drags Stiles back up to his feet and then throws him across the alley into a dumpster like he’s a mere ragdoll. Stiles barely manages to get to his feet before Jerome is on him again, slamming him face-first against the wall, twisting his broken arm up his back. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut against the pain but the pressure on his wrist only increases.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“N-No,” Stiles rasps out.

“Apologize,” Jerome repeats coldly, wrenching Stiles’ arm until he’s forced to cry out from the pain.

“Never,” his voice catches in his throat, a sob choking out.

Jerome’s lips brush against his ear, his breath hot. “I’ve heard that before,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You’ll apologize in the end. You always do.”

Why hadn’t he let Scott walk him home? Why had he been so fucking stubborn? Jerome could kill him, could do anything to him, and no one would ever know until too late.

_Someone please help me._

Jerome lets his wrist go and turns him around, pressing him back against the wall. “Don’t worry, though, we have plenty of time to get to that,” he says, wiping at the tears slipping down Stiles’ cheeks, despite the witch’s best attempts to pull away from his touch. “This’ll be our last time together, so I want to savour it. Don’t you?”

He cups Stiles’ cheek and leans close enough for the witch to feel his hot breath against his skin. “I missed you. Didn’t you miss me?”

“No,” Stiles shuts his eyes, if only so he doesn’t have to look at the vampire.

“That’s not very nice,” Jerome drags a claw down the delicate skin of Stiles’ neck. “I thought of you every night. The way you smelled, the way you tasted. The way you felt. The way you sounded. Screaming, begging, crying. That’s why I always tried my best to make you heard. You sound so pretty.”

Stiles’ stomach churns. Bile rises in his throat and he wants to throw up, but Jerome has him trapped. He doesn’t think he could move anyway. He can barely breathe.

“Don’t worry, though, you’ll make lots of noise tonight. I’ll make sure of it. Have to have something to remember you by.”

The fabric of his hoodie is pulled away from his neck. Panic kicks into his system again and he tries to push Jerome away, fights to get free. But his attempts are futile against the vampire’s strength, and Jerome doesn’t even seem to notice his movements.

He chokes out a gasp at the sharp pricks along the length of his neck.

He remembers this, the feeling of having his blood drank. Often times, it was the only thing he had been aware of in those six months. It takes him right back to the cage, being passed around among the vampires like a piece of meat.

Panic floods his system, he can’t see, he can’t breathe, his heart is going erratically fast. He’s not even sure where he is anymore, but he knows he needs to get away. He throws everything he has into trying to break free…

And somewhere, deep inside him, he finds the last of his magic. It’s all he has left in him but it’s enough. _It has to be_. He takes a hold of it and _pushes_.

It explodes out of him, driven only by panic and urgency and fear, chaotic and violent. Jerome goes flying across the alley, and Stiles slumps against the wall.

For a moment, all is quiet.

But Stiles didn’t have enough magic and now he doesn’t have enough energy to take advantage of it. Gold eyes gleam dangerously through the darkness. He blinks and Jerome is there, his hand curling tightly around his neck. Stiles can feel his claws raking against his skin.

“Looks like you’re all out,” Jerome sneers, his teeth slick with Stiles’ blood. “Guess you used it all on that little light show back there.”

Between his magic use and Jerome’s feeding, Stiles is completely drained. Everything’s going fuzzy around the edges. Stiles can’t even feel his pain anymore, the world’s turning grey around him. He’s not even sure if he’s actually still breathing.

Jerome is saying something but Stiles can’t hear him anymore above the dull ringing in his ears. His claws dig into his skin, and his fangs glint in the dim light as he forcefully pulls the hoodie back. There’s a sadistic hunger in his golden eyes.

This time he sinks his teeth viciously into Stiles’ neck.

This time Stiles screams.

And then there’s darkness.

… No, not darkness. Blackness. A big black wolf with red eyes lunging through the air and ripping Jerome off of him. The wolf sinks its own teeth into Jerome’s neck and rips. Stiles is sure if he could hear it, the vampire would be dying a horrible death.

Ironic.

His legs give out from underneath him without anyone to hold him up and he slumps down the wall to the ground.

“… ‘tiles,” someone’s calling his name.

The wolf looks round from Jerome’s body and locks eyes with him.

_Derek_.

“Stiles,” the voice repeats louder but also somehow fuzzier and he finally, slowly, barely registers the other presence in the alley.

_Scott_.

Scott’s eyes are wide and worried through the grey fog closing in around him, and he reaches out to reassure him. “Stiles.”

And that’s all Stiles remembers as the world fades away for real this time.

*

**June;  
10 years ago.**

_“Rama, I am perfectly capable of buttering my own toast,” Sunstra says with a sigh, as her brother hovers over her shoulder. “I have been doing so for years, thank you.”_

_“Just making sure,” Rama grumbles, sitting back down heavily in his seat, like Sunstra’s rejection of his help is the worst kind of offence._

_Stiles watches the exchange with an amused bemusement._

_They almost sound like they’re fighting but Sunstra has a fond smile on her face and Rama is not as grumpy as he would like everyone to believe._

_He kind of reminds Stiles of Derek actually, right down the distrustful glare he keeps sending towards him. There appears to be some kind of hostility he hasn’t quite worked out, but Rama has definitely been a little bit more of a helicopter-parent type ever since Stiles turned up on their doorstep, if Sunstra’s irritated remarks are anything to go by._

_“Rama, stop staring at the boy,” she admonishes. “We are trying to have breakfast here, show some manners.”_

_“Yes, Sunstra,” Rama sighs, focusing on his own meal._

_Rama might be older but he absolutely treats his sister like a princess, right down to being bossed around by her. Some would say she has him wrapped around her finger, but Stiles has only been here a few days and he can already see the mutual respect and love they have for each other._

_“Ignore him,” Sunstra assures him. “He fusses too much.”_

_“It’s fine,” Stiles grins unabashedly. “I’d be more concerned if he didn’t fuss at all.”_

_Rama lifts an eyebrow at him over the table._

_“Don’t encourage him,” Sunstra frowns but there’s a smile tugging at her lips, as she carefully bites into her toast. “So, I have heard good things from your other teachers. You are quite adept at picking up magic.”_

_“Um, I guess so?” he shrugs, faintly embarrassed. “I’d have to take their word for it. I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”_

_“I suppose I will also have to do that,” Sunstra agrees._

_“Sunny hasn’t taught many students,” Rama explains quietly when he sees Stiles frowning questioningly at his sister._

_“This is true,” Sunstra nods._

_“Oh. So is this a privilege or a special case?”_

_“An obligation,” Rama mutters as he shakes out the newspaper._

_Sunstra waves her hand dismissively in his direction. “You are undetermined. If you are as good as Jonusz says you are, definitely the former.”_

_“Well, I’ll do my best to live up my reputation,” Stiles jokes._

_“I am sure you will be fine,” Sunstra assures warmly._

_Rama takes over the conversation as he starts reading out articles from the newspaper to Sunstra for her opinion. His voice is deep and even and it’s soothing background noise as Stiles eats his breakfast._

_“Weather is supposed to be clear all day,” Rama reads out. “What do you think, Sunny?”_

_Sunstra smiles, and tilts her head, her eyes glowing faintly blue. “I think it’s going to rain sometime in the afternoon.”_

_“Hm, that’ll save me watering the plants later.”_

_As Sunstra begins to stand to clear her place, Rama shuffles the paper closed and quickly intervenes to take her plate._

_“Rama,” she reaches out to where she can feel him standing next to her. “I know my way around the kitchen. I am not an invalid.”_

_“I know,” he responds but he still clears her plates away. She sighs fondly._

_“He is my brother and I love him, but he is too protective,” she tells Stiles, fully aware that her brother can hear her. “I have been blind my entire life, I have grown up knowing no difference, and he still treats me like I might break.”_

_“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he mumbles._

_“I know you are, and I love you for it,” she opens his arms and waves him over for a hug. “But Stiles is not going to hurt me. So, please, let me butter my own toast for as long as he is here.”_

_“No promises,” Rama responds, as he steps into her hug._

_Stiles smiles, watching the two of them interacting. He feels a faint homesick pang for his Dad and for Scott, which he quickly pushes away._

_“Now, Stiles,” she turns to him; her powers directing her gaze right to his face. “Shall we start your training?”_

_Sunstra’s gifts lie in being able to see what most people can’t. The past, the future and the world as it exists around them. Stiles finds it partly ironic that she is also blind; and partly a cliché, that as a blind woman, she can see beyond the physical realm, while not being able to see the physical realm at all._

_“Rama,” she says warningly, and Stiles turns to see that Rama had been following them. “I can teach Stiles on my own.”_

_Rama sighs and grumbles something under his breath but turns to head into the garden._

_“Now,” Sunstra gestures him through a door into a darkened room. “Let’s begin.”_

*

**April 26th.**

Stiles wakes up in the midst a panic attack.

The last thing imprinted on his brain is Jerome attacking him and his immediate reaction is to fight back. The whole world tilts around him; he doesn’t know where he is or how he got there, all he knows is he needs to get out.

He summons his knife and shoves himself to his feet, only to fall off the bed he’s apparently on and stumble as the ground moves under him.

“Whoa, Stiles, hey,” a voice cuts through his panic and Scott reaches him just in time to stop him from collapsing again. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Stiles clings to him for a moment, his mind drilling overtime. If Scott’s here, then he must be safe. Bits and pieces of Jerome’s attack start to come back to him, most notably that Scott and Derek found him and rescued him.

He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything, his stomach flips one too many times and he’s forced to bolt for the trashcan.

Scott’s right with him, though, rubbing his back soothingly as he empties what little content he has in his stomach into the can. “You’re okay,” Scott repeats gently like a mantra until he’s done. “I’m going to go get your Dad, okay? He’s just outside.”

Stiles can’t really bring himself to respond so he just nods, resting his forehead on the edge of the trashcan. He wants to ask Scott not to go, but he doesn’t think he has the words. Besides he doesn’t really have the right to ask for Scott like that anymore.

He does kind of want to see his Dad anyway. More assurance that he’s actually okay.

There’s a makeshift cast on his right arm. Some gauze on his neck, over the fresh bites. And there’s something around his right calf; he guesses they found the blisters.

The door opens again, and he looks up to see his Dad, torn between relief that he’s okay and worry about what he’s gone through.

He struggles to his feet but the world is still spinning around him. Scott’s there again, though, guiding him to sit on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Noah asks, his eyes filled with the kind of fatherly concern that Stiles has always hated to see, since it means he’s the one stressing his Dad out.

“‘M’okay,” he tries to say, a blatant lie that no one calls him on, thankfully. Noah squeezes his uninjured shoulder reassuringly.

“Here,” Scott holds out a glass of water. “See if this’ll make you feel better.”

Stiles takes it carefully, only barely managing to not drop it. “Thanks,” he whispers, before feeling compelled to add, “Sorry.”

Scott exchanges a glance with Noah. “For what?”

“For…” Stiles blinks. He’s not actually sure what for, he only feels like he needs to say it.

What was it Jerome had said about always apologizing in the end?

A sob bubbles up in his chest. “I don’t know,” he admits after a beat, his words catching in his throat. He blinks back the tears burning in his eyes but they spill over anyway and next thing he knows, he’s buried in his Dad’s shoulder, sobbing his way through a panic attack.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Noah asks gently, when he finally draws back, scrubbing ashamedly at his wet cheeks.

He shakes his head. “No, I… Is my backpack here? I need it.”

“Yeah, it’s through in the lounge,” Scott says.

“How about I go grab it while you take a minute?” Noah volunteers. He wants to ask Allison to come in and take another look at the injuries, now that his son is awake.

Scott takes Noah’s place on the bed as he leaves. He watches Stiles cautiously, almost like he’s a spooked animal. “Does it still hurt?”

Stiles nods jerkily. “I should have… I should have let you come with me.”

“It’s not your fault, Stiles. He wasn’t there. You couldn’t have known.”

“He saw, though. When I took out Felipe.”

“Honestly, the light was so bright, they probably saw it from space,” Scott points out, earning a weak smile.

Stiles stares down at his water, before lifting it shakily to take a sip. Gosh, the after-effects of what happened with Jerome are becoming ever more noticeable. He’s still exhausted, and there’s a tang of blood in his mouth. The pain is coming back and it’s beginning to take its toll. His breath hitches against his broken rib.

“How long was I out?”

“All night,” Scott says. “Mom and Allison did what they could for your injuries but your Dad wasn’t sure about how you’d feel going to a hospital. So we brought you back here for the moment. You’ll probably need to, though, for your wrist and rib.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” Stiles winces as a headache begins to kick in. That’ll be a side effect of Jerome’s feeding.

“Can I?” Scott reaches out to him and after a slight hesitation, Stiles nods. Scott rests his hand on the back of his neck and starts to drain the pain slowly. “Mom was worried, about how much blood you’d lost. But somehow you were replenishing it a lot faster than expected.”

“It’s a perk of being a witch,” Stiles sighs softly against Scott’s hand. “One I’m all too familiar with, unfortunately.”

“Hopefully, one you won’t ever have to use again.”

Stiles swallows dryly. “Thanks. For finding me. I thought… I didn’t think you would.”

“Of course,” Scott responds, like there had never been any other option. “It’s Derek who deserves it, though. He’s the one who realized you were in trouble. And the one who found you, even though we had no way of tracking you.”

Stiles squints curiously. That’s… unexpected. “How?”

“You’d have to ask him that,” Scott says, as the door opens and Noah enters with Stiles’ backpack, and Allison in tow.

“Allison’s gonna take another look at your injuries, if that’s okay?” Noah says, passing the backpack onto the bed.

Stiles shrugs. “I guess.”

“I gotta go call Deaton and let him know what’s going on,” Scott says, apologetically retracting his hand. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Dad, is it okay if I have some privacy?” Stiles asks hesitantly. He doesn’t want to kick his Dad out but he also needs to talk to Allison in private. Well, as privately as possible without access to his soundproofing sigil.

“Of course,” Noah agrees warmly, backing out of the room.

“How are you feeling?” Allison asks gently, as Stiles rummages through his backpack. “We patched up your wounds as best we could but we couldn’t get your hoodie off.”

Stiles finds what he was looking for in a small side pocket. A pendant charm on a thin, delicate chain, etched with an unusual carving. “Here. For your protection,” he glances meaningfully at her stomach.

She blinks and then takes it with understanding. “Thanks.”

“If the pack knows,” he adds in barely-audible tones, “they can tell. Like Isaac.”

“And if they don’t?”

Stiles shakes his head and she smiles at him.

“The hoodie isn’t designed to come off easily,” he says in a more normal voice, as he attempts to remove it without pulling too much on his injuries. “For protection.”

“We should really go to the hospital for your wrist and your ribs. They’re broken, Stiles, and they need to be looked at properly.”

“It’s fine,” he taps the grimoire in his backpack. “I can fix them myself.”

“What about the blisters on your leg?” she asks. “That’s one of the weirdest burn patterns I’ve ever seen. It seemed to be confined to your tattoo. The one, ironically, depicting fire.”

“Yeah, that’s a result of what happened last night. Did they tell you what I did to Felipe?”

“In so many words.” Once his hoodie is off, Allison goes for the injury that worried them the most. Stiles flinches at her touches against his bite wounds, but nods for her to continue. She works in silence as she goes over the rest of his wounds, making sure they’re not worse than when she first tended to them.

“Okay,” she says, finishing up her examination with a quick look at his burns. “Is there anything else you’re not telling us about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Stiles mumbles. The pain is beginning to come back but once he’s made a few potions, it won’t be a problem. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“If you’re hungry, we can make you something,” Allison offers. “You should rest.”

Stiles shrugs. “I need to heal myself. I need a kitchen to do that.”

“Okay,” she relents. “Need a hand?”

“Nah, I got it,” he says. He doesn’t want to bother anyone any more than he already has. He pushes himself to his feet, wobbles and almost falls right back down onto the bed. Allison lifts her eyebrows knowingly. “Okay, maybe.”

She offers an arm for him to lean on and guides him towards the door. Noah’s waiting outside the room and he quickly takes over as Stiles’ makeshift crutch. They’re on the bottom floor of the pack house; Stiles must have been in some kind of guest room.

They pass through the lounge, where a few members of the pack are still lingering. Scott, Lydia, Cora, and Sammi notably. No sign of Derek, which Stiles finds to be slightly disappointing. He’d wanted to ask about how Derek found him last night.

The kitchen is one of those rooms you’d find in a show magazine or a TV advert. Clean, nicely decorated, and well stocked with every appliance and gadget you could ever think of, but hardly used. Stiles can think of a few people who’d be equally jealous of the set-up, and baffled that no one seems to actually use it.

“Are you sure you should be doing magic so soon?” Noah asks worriedly, as Stiles pulls his grimoire out, followed by a herb pouch and then his athame.

“I’m not doing magic,” he responds, fumbling through the pages of his book. “The ingredients are gonna do it for me.”

The herb pouch is made from a gentle silk, embroidered with an unusual sigil; not one you would find in his book, as it’s not actually one he knows. The pouch itself had been a gift from a fellow witch, the prototype of an experimental enchantment. It’s designed to fill with any plant or herbal ingredient the user needs exactly when they need it, assuming the ingredient is easily obtainable.

It’s certainly come in handy over the years and, as Stiles opens it and tips out all the ingredients he needs for a replenishment potion, is very much worth its weight in magic.

Noah watches with a keen interest as Stiles flips to the correct page for the recipe. As he chops and mixes the ingredients together, Lydia pokes her head in to investigate; and by the time he’s mixing the herbs into a cup of boiled water, everyone in the house is hanging around in the doorway to watch; although Scott’s looking at him more than his work. Stiles assumes it’s because a number of his tattoos are currently on show. His tree down his right arm, for one, and the hand around his left bicep.

The hot liquid burns his tender throat as he swallows it down and he almost coughs it back up, but he can feel it working almost instantly. It’s designed to replenish his energy, his blood, his magic; he can feel his power flickering back into life, deep inside him.

His next potion is a healing potion, to help him recover from his magic use against the vampires. He’d burned himself on his own magic, that’s how strong his power output had been. His throat is still raw, his lips are cracked and dry, and his voice is still rough. Once again, his pouch provides him with all the ingredients.

Lydia moves to his side, reading his recipes as he works.

The second potion soothes his mouth and throat as he drinks it. He doesn’t realize how tense he’d been against the pain, until it starts to fade and he finds himself starting to relax.

“Feel better?” Noah asks at the relief visible on his son’s face.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, slumping against the counter a little. He can feel his ribs and arm tingling as the potion starts to repair his broken bones. The bite wounds on his neck itch as the skin begins to knit back together, but his headache dulls down to almost nothing and it finally no longer hurts to swallow or talk or breathe

The only things unaffected are the burn blisters on his leg but that’s a different problem.

Back to the book and the herb pouch as he mixes together a burn salve. This time Allison joins Lydia in reading the recipe. Stiles figures it’s a medical curiosity, or perhaps a hunter’s one.

Rolling up his pants, he undresses the gauze from his leg. There’s a sharp intake of breath from someone, his Dad maybe, at the sight of the burns. There’s a tattoo on his lower leg of flames burning up his leg and the burn blisters are confined to the area of the tattoo, almost as if the tattoo itself had been what burnt him; and, yeah, it kind of had, since the tattoo represents his power over the element of fire.

He spreads the salve across his skin, letting out a soft breath at the cooling sensation that tingles against the blisters.

“Can you help me redress this?” he asks Allison quietly, who nods and quickly goes to grab her first-aid kit.

“What now?” Lydia asks curiously.

“Uh, probably sleep for a while, give it all time to work,” Stiles gestures at his person. “But if you meant potions, well, feel free to read through my book if you want.”

Lydia’s eyes brighten and she hops up onto one of the counter stools, pulling the grimoire towards her to read.

“You can sleep here,” Scott offers.

“Thanks, but I’d really like to shower too, so…”

“It may surprise you to learn that we have working plumbing,” Scott points out. “It’s not a big deal, that’s what the guest room is for.”

Stiles rolls his eyes lightly. “Yeah, but I don’t have anything to change in to. I don’t wanna get back into these,” he pulls at his t-shirt. “In fact, I’d really like to burn them.”

“I can run to your apartment and grab you something,” Scott says, a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just stay, okay?”

There’s a desperate note in Scott’s voice that Stiles feels the need to revisit at some point but he just resigns himself to nodding. “Fine.” He’s too tired to argue much anyway.

Allison returns to help dress his burns and then he limps back through to the guest room, glad that he doesn’t have to lean on anyone again. His Dad follows him through, giving him another reassuring hug before he climbs into bed to sleep again. Noah tucks him in, ruffles his hair, and Stiles mumbles something about how he’s not a little kid anymore.

Noah just chuckles and slips out of the room, as Stiles drifts off.

*

The nightmare is inevitable.

Stiles has been having them a lot lately. Normally he has dreamcatchers and charm bags to aid him in a peaceful sleep but all of those are back at the apartment, not the guest room he’s currently sleeping in.

Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s been having a lot more nightmares in general recently. He should probably look into that.

But after what happened, a nightmare is expected.

Where he isn’t fast enough to save Lydia or where Derek and Scott aren’t fast enough to save him or where Jerome is too fast for anyone to survive. He thinks those gold eyes will probably haunt him for the rest of his life.

A warm hand circles around his uninjured wrist, bringing him into the present. He blinks dumbly at it before bringing his eyes to find Scott, it’s always Scott, reassuring him.

“Is Lydia okay?” he asks thickly.

“Lydia’s fine,” Scott assures gently. “She’s in the lounge, reading your book.”

“And my Dad?”

“He had to go to the station to file reports on the vampire attacks from last night,” Scott explains. “He’s okay, he texted us not that long ago.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Scott squeezes his wrist gently. “I brought you some fresh clothes. Take all the time you need, okay?”

“Is… Is Derek here? I wanted to ask him…” Stiles trails off awkwardly and shrugs. “About how you found me.”

Scott frowns faintly. “Yeah, he’s in the lounge. Most of the pack are, and Chris. Uh, Argent. They’re here about the vampire attacks. And the story behind them.”

Stiles nods slowly, chewing his lip, as Scott slips out the room.

Nightmare aside, those extra hours of sleep he got did him the world of good. His wrist is no longer broken and neither are his ribs, albeit the bruising is still clearing up. The burns on his leg have faded under the ink of the tattoo. The bite marks on his neck, well, the scars were already there and there’s nothing that can get rid of them.

His whole body feels a little extra tender but the world is steady as he moves and he can talk and breathe normally. It’s a relief.

He’s a little hesitant to strip off and hop in the shower, since it doesn’t technically belong to him. Scott did give permission but he still feels awkward about it. The bathroom is another showroom type, well-stocked but unused, and he worries about accidentally causing a mess or something stupid like that.

Once he’s under the warm water, though, he quickly changes his mind, because, holy crap, this shower is nice. Who cares if he makes a mess? This is the nicest shower he’s ever had and he’s been in a few over the years. The heat loosens the last of the tension in his shoulders, soothes the pain of his bruises, and scrubs away any trace of Jerome ever being near him.

He takes a lot longer than originally intended to shower, dry himself off and get into the clothes Scott grabbed for him – a loose t-shirt and a pair of soft trousers – but he feels all the better for being freshly rested and washed.

He’s still limping on his leg a little as he makes his way out of the guest room and towards the lounge, tugging his red hoodie over his wet hair. It settles across him like a second skin and makes him feel all the more secure when he enters the lounge and every pair of eyes swing to look at him.

He hunches in on himself a little.

“Hey,” Scott says, getting up to greet him. “You okay?”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

The whole pack isn’t here. Danny and Ethan are missing, but Stiles remembers that the former works as a bartender most nights. His Dad isn’t back and Melissa also isn’t here. Chris is, though, like Scott said. It’s the first time Stiles has seen the man since he returned to town.

Jennifer’s here too. She doesn’t look particularly impressed at the sight of him, from her position on the far couch next to Derek. Stiles wrinkles his nose a little. He feels a little too vulnerable to be comfortable around her; but since his magic is kicking back in, he can also see the murky evil of her aura and it’s not particularly nice to look at.

“We were just discussing the last of the vampires,” Scott cuts into his observations.

“You didn’t get them all?” Stiles asks.

“We got all the dark ones,” Isaac supplies. “But some of the others ran.”

“But don’t worry,” Scott assures, “Chris is gonna contact some of the vampire hunters he knows to track them down.”

Stiles looks towards the hunter. “Does he have to?”

“I don’t think anyone needs to tell _you_ how dangerous these things are,” Chris points out. “It’ll be in everyone’s best interests.”

“Except theirs,” Stiles counters. “Felipe was a threat and, believe me, I know how dangerous Jerome was and I am _beyond_ glad that he’s dead,” he spares a glance towards Derek, “but if these ones ran, they might not have been that loyal to the nest in the first place. Jerome terrorized a lot of people into supporting his methods.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re good people,” Lydia says. “They’re vampires. They might not fit with what we know but all the lore still warned us about them.”

“Being a vampire isn’t synonymous with being bad. Everything deserves a chance to survive.”

“Even Jerome?” Derek asks pointedly from the back.

Stiles shudders a little. “Everything that Jerome did, it was in the name of the survival of his species. He was cruel and sadistic and I’m not arguing that, but he was also _angry_ and I don’t necessarily blame him. He wasn’t the first vampire to feed on witches and he definitely won’t be the last to hold a grudge against them either.”

“Why?” Lydia asks, cocking her head in curiosity. Stiles’ grimoire is sitting open in her lap but her attention is fully on the conversation.

Stiles’ regret from a few days ago reappears. “Because witches are the reason vampires are dying out. They have been hunted to the brink of extinction and it’s our fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Scott’s head shakes a tiny bit, trying to understand what Stiles is telling them.

“Witches were the ones who created darkbloods.”

Stiles offers to make soup before going any further into explanations. He hasn’t eaten in over a day and it’s beginning to catch up with him. A bowl of Clara’s soup would go down really well right now.

Noah makes it back from the station, just as he’s ladling it out into bowls. Even Jennifer takes a helping, and Stiles feels probably smugger than he should when she tastes it and looks surprised that it’s actually good. Noah squeezes his son’s shoulder gently, asking him quietly if he’s okay; and Stiles nods, wondering when people will stop asking.

“It starts with a witch,” he begins, once they’re all settled back in the lounge. “Or group of them. The kind who specialize in forbidden magic. Necromancy, blood magic, the _corruptible_ kinds of magic. The Fae Council forbade these arts because of their corruption, and anyone who uses them, even once, is usually marked.”

“Wait, hold on,” Lydia interrupts, “a _Fae_ Council?”

“One story at a time, please, okay? Just accept it and move on.”

“How does magic corrupt a person?” Allison asks.

Stiles bites his lip. “Uh, if you use magic for one of the forbidden arts, it makes you more susceptible to, well, evil. And the more you use them, the more susceptible you become. Forbidden magic revolves around death, and destruction and chaos. And it corrupts you from being able to do the more mundane, but accepted types of magic.”

“Like a Dark Druid,” Cora supplies, feeling numerous gazes in the room snap towards her.

“Sort of,” Stiles shrugs awkwardly.

“Let’s not get side-tracked here,” Scott quickly cuts in.

“Right. Well, a long, _long_, time ago, there was group of witches decided that they didn’t deserve to come in second next to humans. They felt they were the superior species: all the benefits of being human and all the benefits of being an occult. Basically, they wanted to rule the world. It’s a cliché but it had to start somewhere. But a lot of fellow occult species didn’t really want to bow down to a group of witches. In fact, a lot of witches _themselves_ didn’t want to bow down to a group of witches. So they figured if they couldn’t take the world willingly, they’d take it by force.”

“And that’s when they recruited the vampires?” Lydia guesses but Stiles shakes his head.

“No, that’s when they _experimented_ on them.” His regret fills the air. He obviously has no connection to the story he’s telling but he can still feel responsible on behalf of these witches. “They took their blood and performed magic on it, with it. They cast spells on them, tortured them, cursed them, enchanted them. All to build themselves an army. They twisted the very definition of being a vampire to their whims. And then one day… they killed one. Well, three guesses what a necromancer does when he has a dead body on his hands.”

“They resurrected him,” Lydia says.

“Give the lady a gold star,” Stiles flashes her cheeky smile before sobering. “That undead vampire, twisted into an abomination and then resurrected? He was the first darkblood vampire. And also where we get a lot of our pop culture references about vampires being dead and sleeping in coffins and whatnot.” He remembers the first time he’d heard this tale. It’d taken a while to sink in but now it just makes him sad. “They increased their hunger so they’d ravage a town unchecked. They increased their pack bonding instincts to encourage the spread of this new vampirism. They increased their speed so humans never had an advantage. They increased their sense of smell so no one could ever hide from them. They turned them into mindless soldiers, an abomination to vampire-kind, to march across the battlefields and force the world into submission.”

“Obviously unsuccessfully,” Isaac points out.

“When have you ever known humans to just take that kind of shit lying down?” Stiles glances at their residents hunters. “They fought back, formed their own army. Werewolves fought on the side of the humans. That’s why they’re one of the more social acceptable species. It’s also where we get the pop culture references about vampires and werewolves hating each other. Witches joined them, because a lot rules and respects about nature were being completely disregarded. And so did the vampires, marching against their tortured abominations, because they didn’t want them to win either, but no one ever remembers that part. And in the aftermath… darkbloods went rampant. They couldn’t be contained, or controlled. And that’s when the hunters got involved.”

Everyone’s quiet as they listen to him. It’s slightly unnerving; it’s been a long time since he’s been at the centre of such intense focus but it also feels kind of good. Almost like he belongs.

“A lot of the hunters in the early days jumped at the word vampire. Anyone who showed even the tiniest hint of being one was immediately grabbed, interrogated and usually killed. Even the werewolves and witches and anyone else who fought against the darkbloods started to pull away from the redbloods. They were forced to go into hiding and find ways to avoid detection in order to survive. They evolved in the opposite direction from darkbloods: they suppressed their appetite so they didn’t have to feed as much. They suppressed their pack instincts because one vampire is harder to detect than a group of them. Less of them were born, less of them were bitten and eventually their numbers started dwindling.”

“And now they’re on the brink of extinction,” Allison sums up.

“A lot of the original lore on the vampires has been lost. Darkbloods outnumber them 3-to-1 by this point, and no one really knows or cares that there’s other types of vampires anymore. They treat them as if they’re all the same and hunt them like that too.” He hesitates before continuing. “Jerome was a pureborn. They say when the pureborn lineage of a species dies out, the species itself isn’t far behind. There’s only four pureborn vampires left in the world now. We cut their chances of survival by 20 percent.”

“It’s not our fault,” Scott says gently. “Jerome put us in that position, not you.”

“Maybe. I can still feel bad about it.”

“Is there anything we can do about darkbloods?” Lydia asks. “Other than killing them? Like a cure or something?”

“There were rumours once. But, usually, in order to counter-cast a spell, you first have to know how it was originally cast. No one really knows what those witches did to turn that vampire into the first darkblood, and without that knowledge, there’s no way to change them back.”

Lydia contemplates this, turning back to his grimoire. “Do you have any of this stuff written down? I’ve been reading this and there are a lot of spells in here but nothing about vampires or counter-spells or ghouls or anything like that.”

“Uh, sure, I got a few other books. That’s just my on-hand one, so I carry it everywhere. But I got bestiaries and stuff.” Stiles turns to Chris. “I know that the origins of vampires doesn’t really help with the problem of darkbloods. And if you think tracking and dealing with the stray members of Jerome’s nest is the best course of action, I won’t argue. I just, uh… I just hope you’ll consider this for any future encounters.”

Chris looks at him, his expression stern, but nods slowly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

It’s all that Stiles asks. Turning back to the rest of the room, he realizes that he’s finished his soup. He hadn’t even noticed eating it but his bowl is empty.

“Hey, Stiles, your soup was good,” Cora says, stealing some from Felix’s bowl, grinning at his affronted look.

“Thanks,” Stiles shrugs modestly. “It’s a family recipe. Uh, not my family, but _someone’s_ family’s recipe. Hey, uh, when do you want me to look at your wolf?”

“After what happened last night?” she snorts. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been like this for twelve years, I can survive a little longer.”

“Nah, I’m good, I can take a look when you’re ready.”

“Uh, okay, sure. Um, is now good?”

“Unless there’s something else Scott needs me for?” Stiles looks to the Alpha for confirmation, who shakes his head.

“No, nothing. But I’ll join you. I think Derek will too.”

Stiles stands, a little cautiously in case the world starts spinning again for no reason, but when everything remains stable, he lets out a little breath of relief. He catches his Dad watching him in concern and flashes him a reassuring smile.

“We can head through to the guest room for privacy,” Scott says, pressing a kiss to Lydia’s forehead as he passes by. Derek murmurs quietly to Jennifer about the situation, who looks displeased at his leaving, until she catches Stiles watching and schools her expression into something more neutral.

The four of them head back through to the guest room. Stiles grabs a chair from the corner and drags it over the bed. He flops down into it, somewhat tired from the short walk, and gestures for Cora to sit on the bed opposite him.

“I need your hands,” he says, holding his own out.

Cora lifts an eyebrow, glancing at the other two wolves in the room. “Why, are we forming a prayer circle?”

“You can, I just need physical contact,” he fires back, grinning slightly. She takes his hands and sits down on the bed.

“Okay, now what?”

“Just sit for a few minutes,” Stiles tells her, closing his eyes so he can focus on reading her energy. It takes his power a few seconds to kick in, still recovering from his ordeal.

The room is quiet for a few minutes. Thin lines of silver streak intermittently across Stiles hands and Scott notes, with interest, the eye tattoo on the back of his hand glowing blue.

Derek’s watching it too.

Scott’s seen four tattoos so far: the eye on his hand, the hand on his arm, the tree on his other arm, and the flames on his leg. Allison had mentioned a river around his hip, and the edges of a fifth tattoo around his chest that they hadn’t been able to get a good look at because of his hoodie. Derek had said Stiles had told him there’s nine in total, each one to represent a type of magic. Lydia had suggested that the tattoos are a bit of a touchy topic, since Stiles seems to be quite evasive when asked about them.

Stiles frowns and tilts his head suddenly. Cora looks alarmed, glancing at her brother. The witch opens his eyes, a silver glow fading from them. He looks faintly tired, underneath the concern and confusion regarding Cora.

“Well?” she says tentatively. “That doesn’t look like a good look.”

“It’s not,” Stiles responds, frowning at the floor as he sorts through what he’d felt from Cora.

“Deaton never looked worried,” Derek points out but he quiets at her sharp glare.

“What’s wrong?” she asks and she suddenly sounds very scared. Derek drops onto the bed next to her, shifting seamlessly into big-brother mode.

“I’m not sure,” Stiles responds, finally looking at her. “The curse that the Darach used on you, I can feel it. It’s simple. Deadly, but simple.”

“Deaton said he counter-cursed it when he healed her,” Scott says.

“Yeah, I can feel that too. That’s the problem.” Stiles sighs, trying to figure out how to explain it. “The Darach was trying to kill you. So Deaton used a healing spell to counter it, to heal you faster than the curse could kill you. It should have worked, it’s a good spell, I would have used it myself. But, for some reason, it only healed your human side.”

“And my wolf side?” Cora asks, trying not to look too anxious.

“Cora, I’m sorry… but your wolf is dying.”

Cora sits back in shock.

“The curse is still active in your body. And your wolf is feeling all the effects of it. It’s on the brink of death, because the curse is killing it. Deaton’s cure is also still active in your body and it healed you but it’s like, when it reached your wolf, it hit some kind of wall,” Stiles demonstrates pressing his fist against the palm of his other hand. “Your wolf is on the other side of this wall, the curse is on the other side, and the cure can’t get through it. Your wolf is taking the brunt of the curse, and the only reason it is still alive, is because the cure is only just keeping it that way. For some reason, this wall won’t break and I don’t know why. And if I don’t know why, I can’t do anything to fix it.”

“If it’s killing her wolf, why is Cora mostly still okay?” Scott asks, resting his hand reassuringly on Cora’s shoulder.

“The human side can survive without the wolf side,” Stiles explains. “The wolf side can’t survive without the human side, unless you go through the hassle of separating them out, which is a whole other thing.”

“So… I’m stuck like this,” Cora states despondently, curling her hands into fists.

“I’ll look into it,” Stiles promises. “I’ll reach out to people, I’ll keep trying, I’ll do whatever I can to find out what this curse is and how to fix it. And if push comes to shove, I will even separate you from your wolf and turn you human. But only as a last resort,” he adds at her sharp glare. “Our best chance would be to find out exactly how the Darach cast this spell and then we can counter-cast it. And I’m gonna do whatever I can to find out.”

“And how exactly do you propose to do that?” Derek asks, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “We never found out who the Darach was and they’re not even in Beacon Hills anymore.”

Stiles, very wisely, presses his lips together and chooses not respond to that. “I’m sorry, Cora, I wish there was more I could do to help right now. But this isn’t over.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I… Thank you for trying. I-I need to go,” she stands abruptly. “I just need some time alone.”

“Of course,” Scott agrees. “Be careful.”

She nods quickly and all but flees the room, keeping her head down. It’s not hard to figure out that she’s probably crying.

“Uh, I’m going to go start cleaning up dinner. Thanks, Stiles, by the way.”

“Anytime,” Stiles smiles warmly and then it’s just him and Derek. Derek makes a move to follow Scott, but Stiles catches his arm. “Listen, there was something I wanted to ask you. Last night, when I was… When you came for me, how did you know where to find me? How-How did you even know I was in trouble?”

Derek hesitates, frowning at the floor. He doesn’t really remember much of it, if he’s honest. There had been this sudden sense of fear and panic. He doesn’t remember where it had come from, or why he had been the one to sense it, but he’d also known instinctively that it was Stiles, that he was in trouble.

And there had been a voice in his head, asking for help.

“Derek,” Stiles repeats, sounding a little more urgent. “How did you find me?”

Derek looks at him and he can almost see all the cogs turning in his mind. For a minute, he thinks Derek hadn’t heard him but then he finally answers.

“I don’t know.”

*

“Jerome is dead!” Alix announced, marching into the library. “The whole nest has been wiped out and those that were not saw fit to run. This is a disaster.”

“Alix, my love,” Mera puts her book down and rises to meet her lover. “Relax. You cannot afford to get stressed, it could make you ill.”

“But we needed them to do better,” Alix argues. “It is too risky to slip up now.”

Mera cups her girlfriend’s cheek. “They have had a year to find us and they have not succeeded. All of this, the vampires, the nightmares, the Mourning brothers, it is nothing more than mere entertainment by this point. They are simply for our own amusement.”

“I just do not want to see this go wrong.”

“I know,” Mera strokes her cheek lovingly. “And it will all serve its true purpose in time. But look at us, we are halfway through! Our goal is in sight, the end is near, and everything is falling into place. Nothing can stop us now.”

“Not even the witch?” Alix asks worriedly.

“He would be a fool to even try,” Mera assures firmly. “And he knows it. Our work will see fruition yet, my love. Have faith.”

“I do,” Alix agrees, sealing Mera’s promise with a kiss.

*

**September;  
10 years ago.**

_Sunstra sits across the dining table from Stiles, sipping her tea delicately. “You have improved quite adeptly at your abilities. Magic is certainly in your blood.”_

_“Don’t sell yourself short,” Stiles smiles, squirming a little under the praise. “You’re a good teacher. Even if you don’t do it often.”_

_“Hm, yes,” Sunstra responds. “Rama has warmed up to you quite a bit too since you first arrived. I do believe he will miss you when you are moving on.”_

_“Well, I’ll miss him too. And you, of course.”_

_“You charmer,” she teases. “I hope you pay your girlfriend such compliments. She is a nice girl. Very pretty, or so I hear.”_

_“All the time,” Stiles assures with a grin. “So, think you’ll pick up any more students after me? I mean, you’re good at it.”_

_“Perhaps. I dare say Rama will be a harder convince. He does not like me teaching anymore.”_

_“How come?” Stiles asks. It’s the only thing he’s seen the siblings butt heads on, Sunstra teaching other students. Rama hadn’t trusted him one bit the first couple weeks and Sunstra had to keep reassuring him that Stiles wasn’t a threat._

_Sunstra puts her cup down gently. “I had a student. Before you. He was a good witch but very headstrong. He believed himself to be an expert but he was young and inexperienced.”_

_“Pretty sure most witches are inexperienced next to you. Even I didn’t learn about this world from birth, unlike you.”_

_“You are very sensible, Stiles,” she responds. “Many of those same witches believe that they also know best about their own powers, after only a year or two of use. This student, he was similar. He refused much of my teachings. That, I could handle. Until he went rogue. That didn’t end so well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”_

_There are burn scars up and down Sunstra’s arms and across her chest. There’s probably more across her body that Stiles can’t see._

_“We lost our home that day. And my student, he vanished in the smoke. Rama didn’t leave my side for months. He was scared. So was I. My student, he used my blindness against me. He turned it into a weakness. It took me a long time to be okay with what happened. Rama, bless his heart, he has never quite felt so secure.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. “That sounds awful.”_

_“It was,” Rama’s deep voice from behind startles him but Sunstra never flinches. Of course, she always knows where he is. “Sunny is being too kind.”_

_“Rama,” she sighs with the weariness that comes with a long-argued subject._

_“You almost died,” he says firmly. “Forget our home, I almost lost you.”_

_“We lost our parents young,” Sunstra explains, which Stiles already knew but now the context is different. “We are all we have in the world at the moment. Rama has taken the role of my protector very seriously.”_

_“Clearly not seriously enough,” he grumbles half-heartedly._

_“Did you ever hear about your student again?” Stiles asks curiously._

_“We have not,” Sunstra shakes her head. “I do not doubt he will one day reappear but I am happy to focus on the present, and not his absence.”_

_“I was quite distrustful when we first met,” Rama admits to Stiles. “You can understand why.”_

_“Of course,” Stiles smiles lightly. “No hard feelings. You’re just looking out for family.”_

_“I am not so ashamed to admit that you have earned my respect. As a witch and as a person.”_

_Stiles hesitates, glancing between the two. “Uh, thanks, I think? I didn’t do anything special, though, did I?”_

_“You did not need to,” Sunstra tells him warmly. “You just needed to be yourself.”_

_Rama makes a sound of agreement._

_“Well, I’m glad I didn’t make this a bad experience. I’ve learned a lot from you.”_

_“And I believe I have learned something from you, Stiles. You have been my first student in a long time. Perhaps it is time to return to teaching again. I have certainly enjoyed the time we have spent together. It is… a unique feeling to be sharing your knowledge with a fresh, young mind.”_

_Stiles glances down at the table, faintly embarrassed. “Happy to help.”_

_“Ah, but enough retrospection. How is Kamala? You are seeing her tonight, correct?”_

_Rama leaves to go make himself a coffee. Stiles relaxes as the topic switches to his girlfriend, and fills Sunstra in on his plans for the evening. He only has another week before he plans to move on, so they’re making the most of the relationship while he’s still in town._

_It’ll likely be a long time before he returns._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited formatting to make the timelines clearer. originally, this fic was set in 2023, but Stiles has actually been gone for 12 and half years (October 2011 to April 2024) so now, we're set in 2024. as such, all the pack members are actually a year older than I originally stated, so that's been edited too. the moon cycle is mostly artistic liberties. for any flashbacks, I am counting the number of years back from 2024 (so Stiles met Jonusz in 2012, Elle in 2012, Boyce and Lian 2013, Tatsuo and Sunstra 2014 and so on).
> 
> changed Carly's name to Casey, bc I prefer it. updated the spelling of Filipe to Felipe, same reason. increased the time Stiles was held captive by the vampires from 4 months to 6 (infer what you want from his time there; it's left vague but there are some heavy implications). unironically wrote a flashback about Stiles' birthday in the chapter I wrote and posted around my own birthday.
> 
> I live for Cora calling Derek out on his shit. I also live for Rama calling Sunstra 'Sunny', it's so cute.
> 
> Final word count: 25757 words (Chapter 1 was 7599 btw).


	7. movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> knowledge is power.
> 
> Scott and Stiles come to an understanding. Derek and Lydia go behind Scott’s back, while Lydia turns to Stiles for magic lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did this chapter end up longer than anticipated: yes, why do you ask?
> 
> new concept: this fanfic is a new season of Teen Wolf; each chapter is a new episode, and thus the chapter summaries are now formatted like episode summaries -- two to three small sentences, summing up the plot of the episode. I went back and edited all the previous chapter summaries, so you can check those out if you wanna see. I am legitimately so proud of myself for this.
> 
> anyway, I spent some time rereading my [last attempt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934895) at this story and it just seems kinda low effort, like the chapter notes and the length and everything. it definitely feels a lot better this time around and I'm a lot prouder of this version, than either of the previous ones.

**September;  
10 years ago.**

_“You must be Stiles, right?” the girl standing in front of him smiles shyly. She’s only two years older than him, with long brown hair and warm, dark eyes and a young 6 year old boy clinging to her legs. “I’m Kiana. It’s nice to meet you.”_

_“And you,” Stiles nods in return. “And, uh, who’s your bodyguard?”_

_“Oh, this is Alika. Um, he’s my son,” she admits nervously, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Alika, do you wanna say hi to Stiles?”_

_Alika blinks up at him and shakes his head, shuffling back behind Kiana’s legs._

_“Hey, no worries,” Stiles shrugs easily, smiling cheerfully. “Sometimes you don’t really feel like talking. It’s cool. I do plenty of talking for everyone anyway.”_

_Kiana giggles a little; it’s a cute sound, but it disappears quickly. “Sorry, um, you must be tired, right? And hungry! I have a room for you back at my house. Do you… do you have everything you need?”_

_“Yeah,” Stiles lifts his suitcase. “I travel light.”_

_“Okay, uh, follow me.”_

_Alika clings to Kiana’s hand, glancing carefully at Stiles every so often, as they make their way through the airport._

_“You’re the language expert, right?” Stiles asks, hefting his backpack on his shoulder; the weight is digging into him a little._

_“Uh, yeah, technically,” Kiana glances at him shyly. “It’s mostly because I don’t have anything else to teach you. It’s kind of my passion too, but, uh, if you’d rather just skip it all, I have a sigil you can use to just… understand anyone in the world and they’ll understand you in return.”_

_Something about the way she says that makes Stiles think she’s used to being dismissed. “Nah, I’d love to actually learn another language. I think it’d be cool.”_

_Her face lights up with a smile. “Really? Because I’d already picked out a couple of languages for you and planned a few lessons.” She flushes a little with embarrassment._

_“Well, I know a bit of Polish because it’s my, uh, mom’s heritage. And I took Spanish one year in high school, but that was a little while ago so I’ve probably forgotten all of it.”_

_“No worries, there’s a spell for that,” Kiana looks decidedly excited at the concept of teaching him languages. It’s endearing. “I’d picked out Polish because Jonusz mentioned your mom; but I can totally add Spanish to that too. I was also thinking Latin, because that’s a pretty traditional language for magic? And, well, since you’re here, I thought I’d slip in a few lessons of Hawaiian, y’know, just for fun? Unless it’s too much?”_

_“Hey, you’re the teacher,” Stiles shrugs with an easy grin. “I’m good with all of it. I have heard I’m not the easiest to teach, though. Bit of a loose attention span.”_

_“Don’t worry,” Kiana smiles warmly, “you’re not the only one.” She glances down at Alika, who’s attempting to hide behind her legs as they walk. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”_

_“So it’s just the two of you?” Stiles asks curiously, causing Kiana to freeze slightly, before glancing away from him. Stiles cringes as he notices her discomfort. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. One of the downsides of talking too much is putting my foot in it without thinking.”_

_“No, it’s okay,” Kiana quickly replies, but she’s biting her lip a little and avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, it’s just me and Alika now.”_

_‘Now’ she says, implying that it hasn’t always been. Stiles chooses not to pry about that, reminded that it’s not technically any of his business._

_“Well, hopefully I won’t be too much of an imposition,” he tries instead. “Not sure how long it takes to learn a language, or, uh, four, but I’ll try my best.”_

_“It’s fine, you won’t be,” she assures. “And there’s a spell for that too. It, uh, basically turns your brain into a sponge, so you’ll pick up things faster. Like you’re still Alika’s age. He’s very good at languages,” she adds, reaching down to ruffle his hair again. Her demeanour is relaxing a little more now as the conversation shifts. “I read that raising your child bilingual has very good effects on later education.”_

_“Maybe it runs in his blood,” Stiles grins at her. “How many languages do you know?”_

_“Nine, currently,” she flushes at his comments. “I’m learning Portuguese right now.”_

_“See, I barely know English on a good day,” he jokes. “I can’t imagine keeping up with that many different languages. I certainly can’t imagine having learned that many so far.”_

_“It gets easier the more languages you learn,” she says. “A lot of the European languages share similar rules, which helps. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”_

_“Well, if I can be half as good as you at any language, that’s fine with me,” Stiles says. “Hey, you could even get Alika to teach me a lesson or two,” he smiles warmly at the young boy, who peeks out at the mention of his name._

_“Maybe,” Kiana agrees. “I’m sure he’d like that.” Alika doesn’t look particularly interested right now, but Stiles assumes it’s just because he’s a stranger. “If, uh, if you’re not too tired, though, there’s a small restaurant near here that you might like to eat at?”_

_Stiles shrugs loosely. “You’re the local. If you say I’d like it, then I’ll definitely give it a try. After that flight, I would probably eat anything.”_

_“You’ll love it,” she assures excitedly. “Come on, Allie,” she sweeps her son into her arms. “Oh, and Stiles? Welcome to Hawaii.”_

*

**April 27th.**

“I didn’t really consider it a problem until recently,” Derek says. “When I shift into my full wolf form, I don’t remember what happens.” He’s been thinking about it ever since Stiles asked him how he’d saved him from Jerome. “When Stiles was being attacked by that vampire, I found him. But I don’t know how. There was no scent trail to follow; we didn’t even know he was in trouble, but somehow I did and I found him and I don’t remember _any_ of it.”

“What exactly do you want me to say to that?” Jennifer asks, a little sharply, folding her arms across her chest.

“I-I don’t know,” Derek responds, because he doesn’t. “I guess I just wanted to hear what you think. If it’s something I should be worried about.”

She frowns slightly. “This isn’t a conversation I ever thought I’d be having, honestly. No girl wants to hear that her long-time boyfriend has some kind of telepathic connection with his jealous ex whenever he’s in trouble.”

That has Derek frowning in response. “He’s not my jealous ex. We never dated.”

“Did you ever tell _him_ that?”

This isn’t going the way he’d thought it would. Derek sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “I know that this is a… bad topic for us, but can we focus on my side of things and not him?”

Jennifer snorts, shaking her head. “You’ve shown him more commitment in the last two weeks, than you’ve shown me in the entire twelve years of our relationship!”

“That’s not fair,” Derek cuts her off quickly. “Jen, you always come first. You should know that by now.”

“Really? Because you already stood me up at a restaurant for him, and now you have some sixth sense whenever he’s in trouble? You’ve never come to my rescue like that.”

“Well, you’ve never been in trouble before,” Derek points out but figures it was probably the wrong thing to say when she glowers at him. “Sorry, I just meant… I don’t want to argue, Jen, I’d always come for you if you needed me to.”

She frowns, turning away from him. “All I _need_ is my boyfriend back, but something tells me that with _him_ around, that won’t be happening any time soon.”

“Look, the only reason I was helping him was for Scott, okay? Scott asked me to help him find a place. I thought it was a good way to keep an eye on him. So it’s entirely my fault and I know it is, but I’m just trying to protect the pack. That includes you too.”

Jennifer stares at him for a long moment and there’s something odd about her expression but she relents with a sigh before he can think too much about it. “Fine. Tell me again what’s going with your wolf side?”

Derek nods slowly. “You know I don’t wolf shift very often but I started to notice, when I did, that I don’t always seem to remember what happened while I was shifted. I didn’t think much of it at first, because I usually shifted on the full moon, so maybe it was just the energy and my instincts taking the lead. But it seems to be happening more lately; and outside of the full moon runs. Apparently I ran into, um, Stiles in the woods on a morning run about a week ago but I don’t even remember shifting.”

Jennifer doesn’t look particularly pleased at the mention of Stiles again but she doesn’t shut down the conversation, so Derek counts it as a win. “Is _he_ around a lot when this happens?”

“Well, that’s the other thing,” Derek says, a bit more hesitantly. “Stiles was attacked by a vampire the other night, like I said. But he normally hides his scent, which means we can’t track him. And Scott and I were nowhere near him, so there was no way of knowing that he had been attacked. But somehow I did? And then apparently I also found him and saved him… but I don’t remember any of that because I was shifted into my wolf form.”

“Right.”

“So, what do you think?” Derek asks after a beat.

“What do I think? I think Stiles has been gone for a very long time and we don’t know who he is anymore.”

“That’s fair. I’ve been telling Scott the same thing.”

“Have you also been telling him that he’s a witch now and we don’t know what he’s capable of either?”

“We’ve seen what he’s capable of, though,” Derek points out with confusion.

“You’ve only seen what he’s shown you. We don’t know the full extent of his abilities or what he’s learned to do with his magic. Maybe he’s using his powers to manipulate everyone.”

“You think he’s casting a spell on us?” Derek frowns questioningly at her words. Jennifer’s reasoning is the doubt he himself has felt; but he’d never considered that Stiles could be using his magic to twist everyone’s minds. Although… hadn’t he mentioned something about being able to cast illusions?

“I think that it’s very convenient that he’s there, every time you lose control of your wolf. I think it’s very convenient that these vampires only found him _after_ he turned up in Beacon Hills. I already told you I think his return here is very coincidental timing, given the sacrifices that are happening in town. So, yes, the possibility that he’s using his magic to turn you and Scott and whoever else into his puppets seems very likely to me.”

Derek shakes his head, frowning harder. “Stiles would never do that.”

“You already said that he used magic at the pack house, didn’t you? Without permission?”

“Yes, but he told us they were good sigils, only to help us.”

“Do you really think he’d tell you if they weren’t? He’s not going to admit to manipulating you with his magic; that would just break the illusion and render it useless. Maybe you should talk to Deaton about this. I’m sure he’d be a bigger help than me.”

Jen’s making a lot of sense, Derek thinks. But there’s still a part of him struggling to accept what she’s saying. Stiles has only been a help since he came back. It’s not like he wanted the vampires to follow him here either; look at how Jerome treated him in the few minutes they were alone together, and he endured that for six months with them. Derek would probably try and run away from that too, if he’s honest with himself.

But Jennifer does make a good argument. Derek doesn’t believe in coincidences anymore; and there’s been more than a few where Stiles is concerned.

“What do you think I should do?” he asks his girlfriend, debating internally.

“I think you should tell Scott, for one,” she says. “This could affect the whole pack. You need to be honest. That’s how you stop him from succeeding with whatever devious little plan he’s concocting against you.”

There’s another odd expression on her face when he looks at her. She almost seems gleeful but he’s too busy nodding in agreement to pay much attention.

“You’re right, I should tell him. Then we can come up with a plan and prevent Stiles from getting too close to the pack. I just… I just can’t believe he’d do something like this.”

“He’s not the student you knew 12 years ago,” Jennifer assures, squeezing his hand gently. “He’s changed and learned all kinds of new things and he probably still holds a grudge against me from when he thought I was that… evil Druid, and no one agreed with him.”

“You’re right,” Derek repeats. “I should have listened to you from the very beginning and told Scott we couldn’t trust him. I can’t let him get close to you like that.”

“It’s okay, Derek,” Jennifer soothes, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The important thing is that you’re doing the right thing now. You just have to protect me from him, okay?”

“I will. I promise, Jen.”

“I know you do,” she smiles sweetly at him, gently caressing his cheek. Her eyes fade to a milky-white colour as she draws him close, sealing his promise with a kiss.

*

Stiles is woken by the sound of the doorbell.

It takes him a second to remember where he is. He’d slept at his Dad’s last night, at Noah’s insistence; and Scott’s, oddly enough. He’d been perfectly content about going back to his apartment, but his Dad had wanted to keep an eye on him after his attack. And, well, he can’t say he’s complaining about it. He’d slept well.

It’s late in the morning. A lot later than Stiles had intended; he’s lucky he doesn’t have a job with set hours he needs to worry about. Not that he’s been working much at all since he got back to Beacon Hills.

The doorbell rings again and he remembers why he’d woken up.

He pads slowly downstairs, taking the time to check the progress on his wounds. His shoulder will always bear the scars of a vampire’s bite; but his wrist and ribs are fully healed. Only his leg remains slightly tender as he walks.

His magic is still replenishing but he burned almost all of it up, so that’s not entirely surprising. He has more than enough to tell that it’s Scott on the other side of the door.

“Hey,” he smiles hesitantly at his old friend as he swings the door open. “Are you looking for my Dad? I think he’s at work.”

“No, I came to see you,” Scott replies. It shows how much their relationship has changed, he thinks. Once upon a time, there wouldn’t have been a question about who he was here to see, and it wouldn’t have been the Sheriff.

“Oh,” Stiles looks a little caught off-guard but recovers quickly. “Is everything okay? Do you need something?”

Yet another indication of their relationship: Stiles assuming he’s here for help or information or literally anything other than checking in on him.

“No, I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh,” Stiles repeats, turning that over in his head. “Um, I should probably make myself something to eat if you wanna come in.”

“Sure,” Scott quickly takes up the offer, because there’s a reason he’s here, there are things he wants to say. “So how _are_ you doing?”

“I’m fine. Basically at 100 percent again. No need to worry about me.”

“Well, I am,” Scott admits as he follows Stiles into the kitchen. “I was… It was scary, finding you like that in the alley. I thought… I thought he’d killed you.”

“Well, he didn’t, and I’m fine,” Stiles shrugs a little _too_ easily, digging through the cupboards for ingredients to make a small omelette. Something gentle on his stomach.

“I’m not.”

That catches Stiles’ attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scott sighs, leaning against the counter as he watches Stiles work. “A couple days ago, I asked you about being under our protection. You didn’t answer. Why?”

Stiles bites his lip, contemplating his answer. There are a lot of reasons, he thinks, that he didn’t, _couldn’t_, accept the offer but he’s not sure Scott will want to hear any of them. “I’m used to protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to be, around us,” Scott says.

“It’s not so easy,” Stiles points out. “Old habits die hard and all that.”

“I know,” Scott agrees softly, and Stiles gets the feeling that this is only the tip of the iceberg. “I realize we haven’t had much time to talk, since you got back. We just kind of ended up thrust together with the ghouls and the vampires. I don’t think I’ve really had a chance to think about this,” he gestures between them. “Or to talk about it.”

“What do you wanna say?”

Scott takes a moment to consider, watching Stiles mix the omelette together. “When you left, I was really hurt. When you stopped speaking to me, I was really angry. When you never came back… I stopped thinking about it. I couldn’t understand why you left so I guess I stopped trying to.”

“I am sorry about that,” Stiles says, staring into the bowl. “I should have stayed in contact.” Easier said than done, he thinks to himself.

Scott tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze drifting across the room. “I was so angry at you, I basically just ignored that you were gone. That you’d ever left. I never considered what it’d be like if you never came back. Not because you didn’t want to… but because you _couldn’t_. If you’d never gotten away from Jerome, or the ghouls, or whatever else you haven’t told us about yet.”

“There are a few things I haven’t mentioned,” Stiles admits with a quirk of his lips.

Scott returns it with a small smile. “There was a part of me that clung to the fact that you were still out there somewhere, alive; and eventually you’d come back. And I’d eventually be able to confront you. Even _when_ you came back, I still had this idea that you’d just been out on some grand adventure and I felt so angry about it. We’d dealt with so much here and I still feel the darkness sometimes,” he presses his hand against his chest, “and you just seemed so _okay_ because you’d gotten out. I never realized that maybe you’d suffered in your own way.”

“Admittedly, some of it’s been my own fault,” Stiles jokes lightly. “Can’t imagine you can say the same things. I mean, I barely know what you’ve been through over the years. Cora said something about Derek being human? Still waiting on that story.”

“Yeah, uh, Kate Argent apparently turned into a were-jaguar, instead of dying. She cast some kind of spell that de-aged Derek and then turned him human.”

“Trippy.”

“Yeah,” Scott huffs out a laugh. “I mean, it wasn’t all bad. He went through some kind of… evolution, he called it, and that’s when he learned how to full wolf shift.”

“I saw that. Neat party trick.”

“What about you?”

“Uh,” Stiles hesitates for a moment, thinking quickly for a simple anecdote of his travels, “got bitten by a succubus.”

“The sex demon thing?”

“Yeah, that was a couple years ago. I was out clubbing with a guy and it kind of snuck up on me. There was a fight, it bit me and, uh, ran away.”

“Can their bite turn you?” Scott asks curiously.

“It might have, if I hadn’t been witch. I’ve heard that succubi can only turn humans. So far, I haven’t seen anything to the contrary.”

Scott watches with an increasing interest as Stiles lights the stove and oils a pan for his omelette. “Where’d you learn how to cook?”

“All over,” Stiles responds. “I had a few different teachers who taught me a few different things; and from there, I just picked up recipes as I went. I have a book in my suitcase if you’re ever interested. It’s got that soup recipe from last night; and the pierogi one too. I know how you like those.”

“I think if I tried that, I’d probably burn the apartment down. And then Lydia would probably kill me because she really likes that apartment.”

Stiles lets out a laugh, flipping his omelette. “Alright, I will keep that in mind.”

“You could try Derek, though,” Scott suggests.

“Derek cooks?” Stiles looks up, the surprise evident across his features.

“So I’ve heard. Jennifer waxes poetic about this curry he does. And I’m sure there’s a few other people in the pack who’d be interested too.”

The mention of Jennifer, as it always does, brings Stiles back down to Earth. Sometimes he forgets himself: Derek is the one crush he’s never been able to let go, no matter how many years he’s been away from Beacon Hills. The idea of the two of them cooking together, sharing recipes and tasting each other’s food, roots itself into his head before he can stop it. And then, as always, Jennifer comes along to ruin it. Just another dream to add to the list of things he wants, but can never have.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing, though. Jennifer might be evil; but Derek never really liked him in the first place.

“I’ll ask, next time I see the pack,” he says neutrally, when he realizes he’s been silent for a few minutes too many.

“Anyway,” Scott’s attitude sobers, “um, before I forget, there was a reason I came to see you. I just wanted to tell you that… I’m glad you’re back. Thursday night gave me a huge shock that you might _not_ have made it back. And I know we still have a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out, but I needed to know that you knew that, just in case.”

“Well, I’m kind of surprising myself here, but I’m glad to be back too. A little bit.”

“Does that mean,” Scott asks, as he follows Stiles through to the lounge, “that you might think about staying?”

Stiles chews on his omelette to give himself time to consider his answer. “I don’t really know. I’ve only been back a couple of weeks.”

“Where would you go, if you didn’t stay?”

“I hadn’t really thought about that either. There isn’t really anywhere I would call home right now. Maybe I’d just wander. Why?”

“I’m just wondering if it’s worth putting an effort into to working on our friendship if, when you’re done here, you’re just gonna disappear off to some far corner of the world where I’ll never see you again anyway.”

There’s a bitterness under his words, Stiles can hear it. He bites his lip. “Well, I’ve had a few offers, I guess. Of permanent residency with, um, a werewolf pack.”

Scott looks dismayed at the idea of Stiles willingly picking another werewolf pack over his. “Why not stay with us? We’re a werewolf pack.”

“That already has an emissary _and_ a Druid as an advisor. You don’t need me.” Or, at least, _Stiles_ needs more than what they can give him.

“But I don’t want to lose you again either. If you joined these packs, would we even be able to see each other? Where would you even be going?”

“Uh, one of the packs is in Greece. I spent a few months with them a while back. There’s a pack in London that I’d like. And there’s also Brazil.”

“So basically we’d never see you again?” Scott asks, disgruntled.

“I mean, maybe, maybe not. I’d come back and visit, you know that. If you’d have me, I mean. Anyway,” Stiles waves his fork loosely in the air, “they’re just offers. I haven’t accepted any of them, I don’t know if I would. I might wanna go somewhere else; like New York has this _huge_ underground supernatural community. I could see myself setting up a little back-alley magic store, selling spells and potions and magic lessons.”

“You could do that here,” Scott points out.

“It wouldn’t be the same. Beacon Hills is a lot quieter and the community is basically non-existent. Do you even know what lives here, besides you?”

“Okay, so what about your Dad?” Scott argues. “I’m sure he’d love for you to stay.”

“My Dad’s happy as long as I am,” Stiles responds easily. “Besides, I trust you guys to look after him. He’d be fine.”

“I wouldn’t be. You’re my best friend, Stiles, my brother, remember? I already spent 12 years without you around, I don’t want that to become our new normal.”

“I _was_ your best friend. At this point, I’m pretty sure Derek is more of your brother than I am.”

“Not in the same way you were,” Scott insists. “No one ever will be. You _are_ my best friend, you always have been. And I want you to be there, in my life. When I get married to Lydia, if we decide to have kids, as they’re growing up. Uncle Stiles, my best friend. I want you around all the time, not just a–a week’s vacation twice a year.”

Stiles prods at his breakfast. “I mean, this is all just speculation. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do next. I haven’t even figured out how long I’m staying before I decide what’s next. I came back for… unfinished business. I still got stuff to deal with. But,” he adds with a firm glance, “when I figure it out, you’ll be the second to know.”

Scott seems to accept that for the moment, sitting back in his seat while Stiles finishes his food. “A magic store, huh?”

Stiles shrugs unabashedly. “I’ve thought about it a little. I spent the last year operating out of New York. I could see myself setting up something more permanent. Talked it over with a few of the friends I have up there.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Scott says. “But wouldn’t it risk the existence of the supernatural?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve been talking it over. So far, I do something similar over the internet. Selling potions and stuff. It’s good money. But it’s easier to hide from the rest of the world that way. There’s an anonymity and a lack of… realism? To the wrong eyes, I’m just another crazy on the ‘net, selling weird gloop and funny rocks. But I’d be a little more exposed in a physical shop with a real face on the products, and so would our community.”

“Do you get a lot of business?” Scott leans forward curiously.

“In the right circles, sure,” Stiles responds with his best attempt at modesty. “I kind of have a reputation. Some people even have names for me.”

“Names like what?”

“Uh, well, depends on who you ask. There’s the Red Mage; the Red Hood, which basically makes me Jason Todd; my personal favourite is the Moon Mage. And a few others.”

“The Moon Mage?” Scott echoes incredulously, a wide grin on his face.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story,” Stiles chuckles. “Not my idea though. I’m actually a big fan of the Red Mage title. There’s a couple of packs in Europe who also call me the Red Fox. That’s kind of growing on me a little bit.”

“Sounds like a spy movie code name. What’s the relevance of the fox?”

“Uh, it’s my hoodie. ‘Cause it’s red? I’ve been wearing it too many years. And I’m known for running with wolves, but I’m not one, so I guess they just picked another animal? There’s a few groups that call me Wolfbird because of that too. The whole wolf and raven thing?”

“That’s kind of crazy,” Scott says. “So I could just walk up to another wolf pack and ask them if they know the Red Mage and they’d say yes?”

“They might,” Stiles concedes with a faint smile. “Depends on how connected they are with the community as a whole and if they’ve ever actually met me. The same could be said about you, y’know. I know of more than a few people who’ve heard about the great True Alpha, Scott McCall.”

“Seriously?” Scott’s eyes widen, his smile growing with delight.

“Yeah, I mean your reputation alone has turned away more than few parties interested in taking over the Nemeton. There are stories of some of your challenges over the last twelve years, witches and wolf packs. Grossly exaggerated though, I assume.”

“Well, I’ll be happy to tell you most of them if you ever wanna hear them,” Scott offers. “If you tell me more of yours.”

Stiles nods once with mock seriousness, lightly nudging Scott’s shoulder. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Scott smiles. “I really am glad you’re okay. You gave me such a scare that night.”

“Is that why you were acting so weird yesterday? When I tried to go home to sleep? And then insisting that I spend the night here.”

“Easier to keep an eye on you,” Scott admits. “Just wanted to be sure you weren’t in any more danger, and that you were healing okay. No one would know until too late if you were in your apartment. Staying here does technically put you under our protection.”

Stiles shakes his head slightly. “You’re really stuck on that, huh?”

“A little bit. I mean, look what happened when you didn’t accept it.”

“Well, you can relax now, Scotty, the worst threat has come and gone. And I don’t think there’ll be anything to follow it.”

“Not even your runaway succubus?”

Stiles laughs. “Nah, my ex well and truly scared that away.”

“Not you and your magic?”

“Well, he was an angry werewolf and I was bleeding out on the floor, on account of being _bitten_, so yeah.”

“He?” Scott echoes, his eyebrows twitching upwards with curiosity; and a faint humour at how Stiles tries to slip details past him. He knows Stiles had a crush on Derek back in the day, but this is the first mention of an actual relationship with another guy.

“I did say I was at the club with a guy,” Stiles points out. “And before you go asking, that’s _all_ I’m gonna say.”

“Come on, you can’t slip the fact that you have an ex into the conversation and then not give any more details.”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Yes, you do!” Scott protests affronted, before they both dissolve into laughter. “Come on, man, once upon a time you used to complain about all the stuff I shared with you about my relationship with Allison.”

“Then your penance should be listening to my first relationship _overall_, not my first boyfriend.”

“Oh, he was your _first_ boyfriend?”

Stiles heaves a weary sigh, flopping back onto the couch. “I hate you,” he grumbles, but it’s all just an act; Scott can see him fighting off more laughter.

“No, you don’t,” Scott pokes his side. “Come on, I’ve missed so much of your life. Those postcards only tell me so much.”

“If you really wanna know about him, you should tell me about you and Lydia first,” Stiles sits up, his eyes bright with mirth. “Like, I’m totally rooting for you and all but I gotta know how that happened.”

Scott shrugs lightly. “We spent a lot of time together without really seeing each other. She dated this hellhound for a while after school and I was busy with my course and trying to lead the pack.”

“A Banshee and her Hellhound?” Stiles comments. “Poetic.”

“I guess. He moved on after a while, we’re not really sure why. But after that, I don’t know, we just felt a connection of sorts. Deaton thought it might’ve had something to do with her position as Emissary. But it felt different from that. So we gave it a shot. It was a little bumpy in the beginning but look at us now.”

“An Alpha and his Emissary. Also poetic. It’s been said that the bond between an Alpha and their Emissary can lead to other connections.”

“That’s what Deaton told me. I’ve just never really liked the idea that the only reason Lydia and I are together is because of an outside influence.”

“Well, it doesn’t always happen,” Stiles quickly amends. “Sometimes it’s the other way around; or sometimes it doesn’t happen it all, and it’s a completely natural bond, outside of the emissary thing. Magic’s fickle like that.”

“Anyway, I proposed to her about a year ago, and now she’s in full wedding planning mode. Well, she has been ever since we got engaged and I’m pretty sure we’re no closer to a wedding now than we were a year ago, but… yeah.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, there was something I wanted to ask you about your wedding,” Stiles shifts a little bit on his seat, exuding a more nervous energy.

“Uh, sure?” Scott looks a tiny bit worried at the shift in his friend’s demeanour.

“Okay, well, I know I’m invited. At least, I assume I am, because you said you’d have to ask Lydia but I’m still hoping I am, because I am super-psyched to RSVP to _that_ invite…”

“Of course you’re invited,” Scott assures.

“Awesome. And, uh, Derek’s gonna be your best man, which is totally cool and everything, he deserves it. He’s been here for you these last 12 years, I totally support you making him your best man and all that. Not that he, or you, need my blessing, of course, it’s your wedding, I’m just saying I totally understand and agree with your choice.”

“Stiles,” Scott cuts him off firmly, but there’s a humoured tilt to his lips. “Get to the point?”

“Right, yeah. Have you ever heard of the concept of mates?”

“Mates?” Scott blinks at the sudden change in subjects. “Like soulmates? I thought those weren’t real.”

“They aren’t. Mostly. But the concept itself comes from this, uh, mating ritual. Like a wedding ceremony but… _magic_. Basically, you’re getting married in the eyes of magic, kind of like getting married in the eyes of the law. It’s a bonding ritual thing, because you’re magically bonding your souls together? It’s totally reversible, too, so you can unbind your souls from one another. Not that you and Lydia would ever need that,” Stiles hurriedly adds, “but basically you can get married _and_ divorced in the eyes of magic. Anyway, I have this friend up in New York. She’s ordained, because she wanted to marry her best friends? As in officiate the wedding, not–not get married _to_ them, I mean. But she also does weddings for the supernatural, because apparently she’s found a way to incorporate this bonding ritual into the legal ceremony itself; and a few minor religious ones too.”

“So you think we should ask her to officiate?” Scott asks, his eyes narrowed as he tries to follow Stiles’ train of thought.

“I mean, that’s totally a possibility, and it’s your wedding, I’ll agree with whatever you decide, but I was actually thinking something more along the lines of… she teaches me how to do it and _I_ officiate your wedding.”

Scott’s brow creases, and he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, although his mouth opens slightly, like he’s figuring out the words.

“Too much, too soon?” Stiles cringes. “I mean, you don’t have to agree. I know we’re still trying to get this friendship back in the air so if you’re not comfortable…”

“No, no,” Scott finally interrupts, before he goes off another ramble, a smile growing across his face. “I love it. I’d love to have you officiate my wedding. I mean, I’d have to ask Lydia but I don’t see why she’d disagree. I think that’d be awesome.”

“Okay, cool,” Stiles lets out a breath of relief. “Because I was kind of worried that I was maybe overstepping my bounds there? Like I’d almost made a fool of myself or something. But I’d love to marry you and Lydia. And, hey, since you guys don’t even have a date set yet, I’ve got plenty of time to practice the ritual.”

Scott grins. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Officiating my wedding. If you move away, we won’t have that kind of friendship anymore.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles points out. “We could have a really great friendship, even with a little distance. Besides, even if I did move away, I’d definitely be back for your wedding, officiant or not.”

“We’ll see,” Scott says, with a quirk of his eyebrows, pulling out his phone for a quick glance. “Hey, I’m glad we got to talk this out a little bit. And I’m glad you’re okay now.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Do you mind if I head out? I gotta go speak to Isaac.”

“Go ahead, I should clean up after breakfast anyway.”

“Listen,” Scott turns back around, just as he reaches the doorway, “we’re having a get together at the pack house tomorrow. You can come if you want.”

“Sure,” Stiles looks up from grabbing his plate. “I can bring my books and give Lydia a proper introduction to the occult world.”

“Awesome,” Scott gives him a thumbs up. “I’ll see you then.”

He disappears through the door and seconds later, Stiles hears the front door open and close, leaving him alone with just a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest. It feels good to get back on the same page with Scott again. He wishes it could be the same for a few other people in Beacon Hills, but he’ll take having his best friend back over having no one at all.

Speaking of friends though, there’s a few he should probably contact. It’s been a few days of radio silence on his end and they’ll want to hear about Jerome and the vampire nest.

And then later, he can work on what to teach Lydia tomorrow when he sees her.

It’s not so bad after all, being back in Beacon Hills.

*

**November;  
10 years ago.**

_“Good morning,” Kiana blushes when she walks into the kitchen to find Stiles cooking breakfast, with help from Alika._

_“Morning,” he smiles back at her, flipping a piece of French toast. “Sleep okay?”_

_“Yeah, it was… good,” she tucked some escaped strands of hair behind her ear. “You?”_

_“Not bad,” he shrugs lightly, biting his lip to hide a smile. “Hey, little man,” he glances down at Alika, “you wanna ask your mom what fruit she wants with these? We have the grand choice of strawberries or bananas.”_

_Alika nods and pads over to Kiana, clambering up onto her lap to relay the question in a small voice. He doesn’t talk much in general, but Stiles had learned pretty early on that it’s a learned behaviour, and not his natural disposition._

_He’d also learned to not shut the doors too loudly, and to ring the doorbell if he’s locked out, and to not raise his voice around the two of them. He has to be careful about sudden movements around Kiana, and to announce his presence, if she’s not already aware; that swearing puts her on edge and alcohol isn’t allowed in the house._

_Kiana hasn’t really explained much of it but Stiles isn’t stupid. He’s seen his father respond to more than enough domestic incidents over the years to put it together._

_Alika tugs on his sleeve and, after plating the most recent slice, Stiles crouches down to hear the answer; Alika communicates better if you’re on the same level as him._

_“Strawberries,” Alika tells him with a definitive nod._

_“Strawberries?” Stiles echoes, screwing up his face with exaggerated disgust. “That’s gross. Everyone knows bananas are the best.”_

_Alika nods his agreement. “Bananas best.”_

_“Don’t worry, we’ll make a banana believer out of your mom yet.”_

_Alika giggles and Stiles stands to finish breakfast. He toasts three more slices of bread, then adds the chopped up fruit, before placing the plates on the table. Kiana takes one, but Alika waits until Stiles sits down with his, before clambering up onto his lap and settling down to eat his own breakfast._

_Stiles wraps an arm around Alika’s waist to keep him secured, while he eats with one hand._

_Kiana ruffles her son’s hair, turning to look at Stiles. “This was nice. You guys making breakfast today.”_

_“Well, I feel like I’ve learned so much these last few weeks, I thought I should find a way to say thank you. And Allie here wanted to help out. He even learned how to slice the bananas. But only with adult supervision, right, kiddo?”_

_“Yah,” Alika mumbles through a mouthful of French toast and banana._

_“And last night was fun too,” she adds in a slightly lower voice. “The movie and stuff.”_

_“Yeah, the movie was great,” Stiles agrees emphatically with a grin. “Uh, what I saw of it, at least. We should definitely try to watch it again. And, uh, actually watch it.”_

_She lets out a soft laugh, glancing down at her breakfast. Her cheeks are dark with her blush. “Yeah, we should.”_

_The movie had been some action movie he can’t quite remember the name of right now. He supposes that’s the kind of impact it had on him. Or perhaps he’d just been too distracted by Kiana while they’d been watching it._

_He’d figured out early on that Kiana liked him as a little more than a student. It’s almost weird to think about, that he’s well-versed enough in relationships now that he can pick up on people having a crush on him. Once upon a time he’d had a crush on a redhead named Lydia and a blonde named Erica had had one on him; and neither of those had ever panned out. Mostly because he’d been an idiot about both._

_Derek had been a **whole** other thing he doesn’t really like to think about anymore._

_Which usually means he thinks about it too much._

_Anyway, now there’s a brunette named Kiana sitting in front of him, eating breakfast with him, after spending the night together; while her son is snuggled in his arms, munching on pieces of banana with French toast, and it feels… familial._

_For the first time, Stiles feels pained that, even if this one night pans into something slightly more long-term, he’ll have to leave them both when he moves on to his next teacher._

_“And if next time we try to watch it, we still fail? I wouldn’t complain.”_

_Kiana smiles shyly, her blush spreading even darker. “Neither would I.”_

_“Anyway, little man,” Stiles nudges Alika gently when he notices the kid’s plate is empty, “we should clean up now, shouldn’t we? Gotta make sure the kitchen is ready for our next meal.”_

_“Yah,” Alika nods, sliding down from Stiles’ lap. “Clean up.”_

_“I’ll help,” Kiana smiles, gathering the plates up. “Gets it done faster. And then we can get on to your lessons today. Alika, you wanna help me teach Stiles again today?”_

_Alika’s eyes brighten and he nods furiously. “Wanna help Stiles learn.”_

_“Awesome,” Stiles grins. “Between the two of you, I’ll be fluent in no time.”_

_He’s surprised at how much he’s learnt so far. Four languages seems like a lot in such a short amount of time but Kiana’s potions seem to do the trick and he’s absorbed so much already. The only downside is it seems to revert him to undiagnosed, pre-medicated ADHD brain, so it can be a struggle to pay attention, but a couple extra Advil seem to do the trick._

_Learning Polish, at least, makes his feel more connected to his mother in a small way. He tries his hardest to focus during those lessons in particular, to cling to this connection. A couple of times, after a lesson, he swears he can smell her perfume._

_Latin isn’t his priority but it’ll be good to learn for the future, he thinks. A lot of the older texts about magic and the occult tend to be written in the dead language. But Spanish is what he really enjoys. Apparently he remembers more of his high school class that he’d thought, because he’s actually further ahead with that than any of the other three._

_Hawaiian is more of a fun break from the other languages than anything serious but he likes learning it all the same. Alika certainly enjoys teaching him the words he knows and Stiles just thinks it’s worth it to see the kid smile._

_“We should go out to dinner this week,” Kiana interrupts his internal musings, as she dries the plates he’s washing. “Together.”_

_“Like… on a date?” he clarifies. “Or just generally?”_

_“Uh, I mean, kinda,” she admits quietly. “The date one. Is that weird? Alika would probably come with us, but I think it’d be nice. If we hung out together. Properly.”_

_“I’m game,” Stiles says. “You know all the best restaurants. And I’d like that too.”_

_“Okay, cool,” she hurriedly puts the dishes away. “I’m gonna go get dressed. Thanks again for breakfast.” She turns to leave then stops and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, her face flushing dark._

_“You’re welcome,” he says with a smile._

_She sweeps Alika up into her arms, causing him to giggle, before slipping out the room. Stiles finishes cleaning up the kitchen._

_It’s all so very domesticated, he muses; him and Kiana, with Alika running around. For the first time, he thinks, he might actually find it hard to move on._

*

**April 28th.**

“Hey, you’re here,” Scott reaches out to clap Stiles on the shoulder in greeting. “Lydia’s been waiting for you to drop by.”

“She’s been waiting on my books, you mean,” Stiles grins as he steps into the pack house. “I get it, she’s only after me for my knowledge. It’s fine.”

“Need a hand?” Scott offers, gesturing at the three heavy-looking books in his arms. Stiles waves him off.

“Nah, I’m good. You got somewhere for me to put them down, though?”

“Lydia’s in the lounge, there’s a few tables in there you can use.”

Stiles nods his affirmative and heads through to where he remembers the lounge to be. It’s a quiet day in the house; more than a few members of the pack are missing. The first thing he notices is that Derek is here; it takes him another minute to realize that Jennifer _isn’t_, which is surprising. He’d kind of thought the two of them were all but joined at the hip these days.

He wonders what it means that he notices Derek first, before anyone else; then decides not to dwell too much on it. It’s been twelve years, he really needs to get a grip.

Danny is here, with Ethan. Aiden’s missing, as are Isaac and Allison; the latter are probably at their jobs, but Stiles isn’t sure what Aiden does for a living. Cora’s also absent, which is maybe less surprising in the wake of the revelation about her wolf.

Lydia’s sitting on an armchair in the middle of the room, but she stands up immediately upon seeing Stiles; or, at least, the books he’s carrying, which Stiles proceeds to drop in a row on one of the tables near her.

“Spells, recipes, bestiary,” he lists off from left to right.

“Recipes?” she echoes curiously, moving closer to take a look. The books are all thick and leather-bound with intricate designs printed into each cover.

“I heard that some of the pack like to cook,” he says, and he can’t stop himself from looking at Derek as he says that; Derek meets his gaze for a moment. “I’ve picked up a few recipes over the years so I thought maybe I’d offer you guys a look.”

He finally looks away, focusing on Lydia, who seems to have a tiny smile on her lips.

“Like those dumpling things you brought us last week?”

“Yeah, they’re in there somewhere,” Stiles taps on the book. “You’re probably more interested in the other ones, though. I’d recommend you start with this,” he pushes the bestiary towards her. “Spellwork is pretty in-depth and complex, so it’ll take longer to get you up to speed on that. Reading about the existence of the occult? Do it once, you’ve done it a thousand times.”

“So this will have info on the ghouls and the vampires?” Lydia clarifies, pulling the book closer. She can’t say she’s not equally interested in the bestiary; Deaton’s resources seem so small, compared to what Stiles has told them so far.

“It’s got everything I know about every creature I know of,” Stiles gestures widely, as if to demonstrate. “And even some I don’t.”

Lydia flips to the first couple of pages in the book before shaking her head. “Oh, wait, I think this is the wrong one, these are recipes.”

Stiles peers over her shoulder with a frown, before realizing his mistake. “No, it’s not, I just forgot to remove the glamour. Hold on.” He closes the book and uses his finger to quickly trace a large spiral on the front cover, from the middle outwards. The spiral glows faintly, and then the whole book lights up for a few seconds. “Try it now?”

Lydia, who’d been watching with an increasing curiosity, opens the book again and is now faced with a contents page listing off creatures of the occult. “What kind of sigil was that?”

“Illusion magic,” Stiles explains. “Illusions are hard to maintain passively for an extended period of time, so a lot of witches just use glamour sigils. It’s the same kind of thing I use to hide my scent from supernatural noses.”

Lydia sits back down in her chair, the book open in her lap. Stiles grabs a seat on the couch next to her, and a few more members of the pack, including Scott and Derek, gather closer to listen to their conversation.

“There’s a lot in here,” Lydia scans the contents page quickly. “Some I’ve heard of. Witches, ghosts, ghouls, hellhounds, kitsune. And a lot I haven’t. Changelings… spriggans… gargoyles? Gremlins? Oracles? Those are a real thing?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I’ve never met one myself, I’ve heard they’re quite rare. Also known as seers, prophets, fortune tellers; depends on where you are.”

“And they tell the future, right?” Lydia flips to the numbered page.

“So I’ve heard. Sometimes witches are capable of the same abilities but oracles are considered the ‘true prophets’.”

“_Oracles are capable of foreseeing specific, guaranteed instances of the future_,” Lydia reads aloud from the passage. “_These visions usually focus on the lives of individuals that the Oracle has come in contact with, even briefly. While most visions start out as dreams, many Oracles are capable of achieving waking premonitions as they grow more powerful_.” She skims more of the passage. “_An Oracle’s life is often short-lived. Many Oracles have been driven to madness by their visions; and some Oracles have become unable to tell the difference between the present and the future. As such, it is not uncommon for Oracles to remove their eyesight early in their life. It is said that Oracles go crazy if they don’t go blind first_.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Scott comments. “That they don’t get to live long.”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Stiles says. “An Oracle isn’t like you and me. It’s more like a power bestowed on people when it’s desired. A lot of their lives are short-lived because the hosts don’t know how to handle the power and then are driven to their mad deaths. But other times, it’s just that the power moves onto a new host, and that person is no longer an Oracle.”

“Which one happens more often?”

“Definitely the first. But the more we’ve come to understand about them, the more groups have formed that are focused on preparing their bodies for the power, should they be chosen; which is why removing your eyesight is becoming more common. If Oracles are driven mad by what they can see, then just remove one of their sights.”

“_There are very few known instances of Oracles being younger than adulthood_,” Lydia reads again. “_And only one historical account of an Oracle being chosen from birth. The baby Oracle was born blind on account of its powers, while the few accounts of the adolescent Oracles suggested that the bodies were weakened by the power and thus, it is unlikely that they survived long after gaining the ability_… Hmm,” she adds after a moment of further reading. “It doesn’t say what happened to the baby. Did it survive?”

Stiles shrugs. “None of my sources have that information. Being born with the power might have given it the advantage of growing and adapting as an Oracle, but I don’t know if anyone really knows.”

“What else is in here?” Sammi asks, leaning over Lydia’s shoulder to get a peek at the book.

“Uh, okay, here’s hellhounds. I kind of dated one once,” she explains quickly to Stiles, who nods lightly. “It says… _Hellhounds are more spiritual than physical and, as such, require a host body in order to interact with the mortal world. Hellhounds are generally depicted as black dogs, as this is their most common spiritual form, and are often associated with Death_. I mean, we already knew that, that’s what Deaton said when we asked him about Parrish.”

“Well, it’s not like Deaton, and Druids as a whole are necessarily _wrong_,” Stiles says. “More that a lot of their knowledge is limited or outdated. At least, most of the time, anyway.”

“_The howl of a Hellhound is much like a Banshee’s scream in that it predicts death_,” Lydia continues, “_but a Hound’s primary job is to guard the dead. As such, many mythologies portray them as guarding the gateways to the underworlds. Hellhounds are also responsible for protecting the existence of the occult_.”

“Hellhounds are the ones sent to intercept the souls of dead occult members,” Stiles explains. “I can’t say I’ve had many interactions with Hellhounds but from what I’ve heard, they often absorb the remaining magic in the air, as well as deal with the bodies. Sometimes they just revert them to their human form, but sometimes they’re forced to dispose of them entirely, to prevent an outsider from finding out the truth.”

“Ooh, hey, there’s changelings,” Sammi points out as Lydia flips through more of the book. “Aren’t those the Fae things?”

“Yeah, here,” Lydia smooths the page down, taking a few seconds to read it to herself before she shares it with the group. “_While changelings are considered a form of Fae, they are often depicted separately from their Fae species, due to their existence in the human world_.”

“You’ve mentioned Fae before,” David says from his corner. “And Deaton has a book on them but I was beginning to think they were really just fairy tales at this point. Do they actually exist? I don’t think we’ve ever met any before.”

“They live in a separate realm, but sure, they exist,” Stiles nods. “There’s a section in my book about them too. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t encountered more of them, given the proximity of the Nemeton in the Preserve. Thought you’d have had a pixie infestation at some point, or maybe a few goblins. Or even a resident brownie.”

“What does the Nemeton have to do with the Fae?” Derek asks. Stiles bits his lip against a smile when he notices that the Alpha is reading through his recipe book. He’s reminded of his fantasy from yesterday but he quickly shoves it away.

“It’s a Fae tree,” he says instead. “The Preserve is full of magic because of it. Theoretically, if you walked far enough into the Preserve, you could find yourself in the Fae Realm.”

“What’s a Fae tree?” Scott questions curiously.

“A tree from the Fae Realm. Well, the Fae Realm didn’t really exist when the Nemetons were planted but it was grown with Fae magic. The Druids didn’t pick the trees to represent Yggdrasil, they were gifted them by the Fae Courts.”

“Wait, what’s that word you just said?” David quickly interrupts. “Eeg-dra something?”

“Yggdrasil,” Lydia corrects. “It’s what the World Tree is called in Norse Mythology. The Druids used the Nemeton to represent the centre of the world, so that must be their interpretation of the same thing.”

“More or less,” Stiles shrugs. “The tree of life. That’s why it can resurrect people.”

Lydia looks back down at the book. “So where are the Fae now?”

“They sealed themselves off in their own Realm. I’m kind of surprised you don’t already know about this from Deaton.”

“What would he know about that?” Derek asks.

“Druids and the Fae had an alliance once. Hence why the Fae gifted Druids with the trees that became the Nemetons.”

“So why’d they lock themselves away in their own Realm?” Lydia asks.

Stiles shrugs. “Lots of reasons. I believe the creation of darkblood vampires was one of them. Something about humans becoming too hungry for power? There’s still portals and ways to access the Fae Realm but most of them are sealed off from us. The Fae can still pass through though, which is how pixie infestations and such become a thing.”

“Wait,” Sammi says slowly, catching all their attention from where she’s reading the bestiary over Lydia’s shoulder. “This says ghouls are a type of Fae.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does,” she insists, pointing at the page. “It says ghouls are the most common example of a new species being created by changelings. That makes ghouls a type of Fae.”

“The _changeling_ was a type of Fae. Anything it created wouldn’t be.”

“Well, why not?”

“It’s the difference between humans giving birth and birds laying eggs. Nature created the Fae, so a lot of what distinguishes the Fae _as_ Fae is how they’re born. Ghouls don’t fit the criteria.”

“I feel like I should read more about the Fae before anything else,” Lydia flips through the book but quickly stops at another section. “You have a section on Druids?”

“Druids are a community within the occult in their own right,” Stiles shrugs again. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it but it’s useful when it needs to be.”

“It’s definitely larger than what Deaton has on witches,” she responds, skimming the pages. “Which has probably hindered us a little during our few interactions with them before you.”

“It’s the rivalry,” Stiles responds, a touch begrudgingly.

“One of these days, you’re going to have to explain that,” Scott says, just as Lydia freezes, staring at the book.

“Stiles,” she says sharply.

“Yeah?”

“This says the Dread Doctors.”

The entire room goes very still. Even those who hadn’t been a part of the conversation go silent, turning towards the middle of the room. Everyone seems to wait with the same bated breath for Stiles’ response.

“Yeah,” he says, seemingly unaware of the tension. “There are people who believe the Dread Doctors were Druids once. Not _all_ of them; but the leader, uh, the Surgeon guy? Definitely.”

“You met the Dread Doctors?” Scott asks quietly.

“A few years ago,” Stiles shrugs one shoulder but there’s a sudden stiffness in his movements.

“Did they experiment on you?” Lydia looks up from the book with anxious eyes. The Dread Doctors had swept through Beacon Hills a few years ago too, attempting to resurrect a famous, dead werewolf from Allison’s family history. They’d killed a number of local students in their attempts to create the perfect chimera, before being murdered _by_ one of their experiments when it proved successful.

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Stiles responds and Lydia doesn’t need to be a werewolf to know that he’s lying. “They experimented on a couple of my friends, though. They were trying to resurrect a werewolf, apparently a dead friend of the Surgeon.”

“La Bête du Gévaudan,” she guesses.

Stiles nods. “They didn’t succeed that time.”

“They did here,” Scott admits, still quiet.

“Well, since they ended up dead, I’m gonna assume not for very long,” Stiles says flippantly, a hesitant attempt to lighten the mood.

“You really think they were Druids?” Lydia asks.

“The Surgeon was. At the very least he had Druid connections, and it’s pretty likely that he taught the other two bits and pieces. I mean, experimenting with life and the supernatural is straight out of the Druid’s playbook. But by the point of their deaths, they were probably more Darach than Druid. Impurity and all that.”

A number of the group seem to sit back and absorb what they’ve just found out.

“What’d they do to you?” Derek asks, as gently as if Stiles is another spooked animal.

Stiles smiles and shrugs. “Nothing,” he replies, as if there isn’t a scar on his body that shouldn’t be there. At least it kind of makes sense as to why the Doctors had left New York so quickly; they must have sensed his connection to the Nemeton and realized it was a good place to set up. It does sound like they turned up in Beacon Hills shortly after.

Lydia starts flipping through the book again, but is stopped once more when she reaches a different section that interests her.

“_Familiars_,” she reads out. “Like a witch’s familiar?”

“One and the same,” Stiles seems to relax now that the conversation has moved on.

“_Unlike popular belief, witches do not assign cats as their familiars. In fact, familiars are a species of their own, who choose the witch they wish to follow. Familiars are a variety of a shifter species, who choose the form most appealing to their charges, which is why cats are a popular depiction in pop culture_.”

“Do you have a familiar?” Scott asks, perking up a little.

“Keep reading,” Stiles nods to Lydia.

“Uh, okay… _Familiars tend to gravitate towards witches whose powers are born from trauma, and are thus more likely to struggle with them in the beginning_. I mean, that sounds like you. Does sacrificing yourself in place of your dad and having darkness around your heart for the rest of your life not count as trauma?”

Stiles just smiles faintly. “Just keep reading,” he repeats.

“_Even if these criteria are met, not all witches are chosen by a familiar. Some witches are drawn towards joining a coven, in which there is usually a group familiar to be shared by all members. Other witches are drawn towards specific types of groups or families, where the members of the group will fill the roles of the familiar. The most common example of the latter is witches becoming emissaries of a werewolf pack, but they can also join vampire nests, skinwalker tribes and other such groups_.”

“Which one are you?” Derek asks, curiously.

“He’s the emissary type,” Scott answers in lieu of Stiles. “That’s why you’re contemplating offers from werewolf packs, right?” he directs towards his friend. “Because you’re going to join one someday.”

“Nothing’s set in stone,” Stiles responds, somewhat vaguely. “It’s just the reason I don’t have a familiar.”

“What does a familiar even do?” Danny speaks up for the first time, becoming increasingly interested in the topic.

“_A familiar’s primary duty is to protect their charge_,” Lydia reads from the book, “_from other people and, sometimes, even from themselves_.”

“I only know of one witch who has a familiar,” Stiles explains. “And she struggled with depression and dissociation and sometimes even suicide. But there was this stray cat that lived on her rooftop that she used to feed every day, and she told me there were some days when that was her only reason for getting out of bed in the morning. Because there was a living being relying on her for its own survival.”

“And that was her familiar?” Lydia guesses.

“It took on a form that she would be sympathetic to. Something she would be encouraged to help. And over time, she eventually sought help for her mental health and her magic and now she’s one of the strongest witches – and people – I know.”

“_As the bond between the familiar and the witch grows stronger_,” Lydia starts reading again, “_the familiar will undertake more duties, such as helping with spellwork; collecting ingredients; allowing their witch to draw on their own power for spells; and other such tasks. The familiar is also capable of developing certain powers to aid their witch: glamour magic, to help maintain the secrecy of the occult; healing magic, to help their witch should they be injured; fire magic, to help with heating potions and elixirs when required; and they are sometimes able to develop a proficiency with a witch’s strongest element as well_.”

“Which element is your strongest?” Scott asks.

“Earth,” Stiles answers. “I’m an elemental mage.”

“I want one,” Sammi leans over Lydia’s shoulder again, reading more about the familiars. “A familiar, I mean. Is it too late for me to be a witch?” she jokes with a grin.

“Depends on who you ask,” Stiles responds, schooling his face in a neutral expression as a few members look at him in surprise. There are a lot of beliefs that becoming a werewolf, or any form of supernatural creature, is permanent. It had even been a huge point of contention between Scott and Derek once. But magic, as always, follows its own rules.

Not that people haven’t tried to predict these rules; but so far, none have succeeded.

“Oh, what’s this?” Lydia interrupts the conversation as she reaches for a stray piece of card that had slipped from the pages of the bestiary. She flips it over to realize that it’s a photograph, of a lake in winter; the water still and sharp blue, only partially frozen over, while the shores glittered with frost. “Where was this taken?”

Stiles leans over to get a look at the photo. “Norway. It must have fallen in there when I was scrapbooking the other day.”

“You have a scrapbook?”

“Yeah, my Dad bought it for my birthday. I’ve been transferring some of my photos into it. Building a kind of memory book thing.”

“Did you take a lot of photos?” Scott asks.

“Oh, yeah, tons,” Stiles nods emphatically. “I wasn’t just travelling to learn magic, I saw a lot of the world along the way. Some of it was pretty nice to look at. There were a lot of tourist areas but a few of the people I stayed with at times offered to be my tour guides so I saw a lot of the local points of interest too.”

“D’you think you’d wanna show us that too?” Scott asks carefully. “I’d love to see some of your memories of your travels.”

They’ve both missed out on a lot of each other’s lives. He doesn’t want to force Stiles to share his travels but he still wants to build those bridges between them, so that the time and distance stops feeling so blatant and wide.

“I mean, sure, I could do that,” Stiles shrugs, after a short pause to consider it. “I didn’t bring it with me today, but I could grab it for the next time you invite me.” There’ll be a couple of revelations when that does happen, he thinks.

Scott smiles at him. “Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

Stiles feels a pang in his chest all of a sudden. He’s thankful he’s covering his scent or he would probably have been questioned about it. There’s a bittersweet taste at the back of his throat, as he watches Lydia poring over his bestiary, exchanging comments with Sammi and Scott as they all read it; Derek sitting slightly apart from the group, reading through Stiles’ recipe book and trying not to draw attention to it; even Ethan and Danny’s heads together as they talk about whatever it is they’re talking about.

It hurts, that once upon a time, he could have been a part of it, where he wouldn’t need to wait an invitation to show up at the gatherings, that he wouldn’t need to hide his scent because he’d trust them, that he could have compiled the bestiary with Lydia and messed around with his magic with Scott and sparred with Allison every week and joined them on their full moon runs and exchanged cooking tips with Derek.

It’s a selfish notion, he supposes. The only reason he’d even be able to do those things is because he’d left in the first place to go learn; but maybe if he’d come back earlier, or stayed in touch, or waited a few more years before leaving; or done anything differently than 12 years of silence… Maybe he’d be Scott’s best man. Maybe he’d still be in the pack. Maybe he would’ve been appointed emissary, and there’d be no question about where he’d go when this is over.

Maybe he could have outed Jennifer years ago. Maybe then… maybe then Derek would have chosen him.

He takes a deep breath and swallows the bitterness down. It’s too late for those kinds of regrets. All he can do is try and make up for his mistakes; and that includes trying to find a way to reveal Jennifer’s true identity.

“Stiles,” Scott cuts through his musings jovially, tapping a page in the book clearly titled **Sex Demons**. “Why don’t you tell us the story of how you got bitten by a succubus while you were out clubbing with your boyfriend?”

Derek’s ears prick up at the mention of a boyfriend, his wolf making a contemplative noise in his chest.

Stiles sighs melodramatically, making a show of rolling his eyes, as nearly everyone turns to look at him. “Sure, Scotty, I’ll get right on that.”

Well, he supposes, at least he can say there are things he doesn’t regret. Getting bitten by a succubus hadn’t been particularly fun but, hey, watching his then-boyfriend fight said-succubus for him right after, always brings a smile to his face.

“Well, okay, I was out one night with this guy…”

*

Lydia waits until the end of the night, just as Scott’s about to head to bed, to bring up what’s on her mind. “Maybe we should ask Stiles.” 

Scott blinks in surprise and looks at her. “About what?”

“The sacrifices.”

Scott doesn’t answer immediately and she can see the hesitation scrawled on his face before he even opens his mouth. “I don’t know, Lyds.”

“Look, you saw earlier today that he knows things. Even just reading through his bestiary… our knowledge doesn’t come close. And we’re getting nowhere. Cora and Felix have been reading every book they can get their hands on and still haven’t found anything. We’ve already asked Deaton. Even _Peter_ doesn’t have any information. We need help.”

Scott sits on her words for a moment. “And you think Stiles is that help?”

“He’s been around the world and he’s met a lot more people. Even if he doesn’t know anything, he’s still a source of information we can use.”

“But this is pack business and he’s not a part of it,” Scott argues. He can see the validity in her argument but something is holding him back. There’s a tiny doubt niggling in his brain that he can’t shake.

“That’s not stopped you from letting him get involved already.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“The only reason he turned up to help with the ghouls is because he was with Derek when I texted him.”

“And what about the vampires?”

“They came here _for_ him. There was no way Jerome could attack him without getting us involved. It was an attack on the territory. The sacrifices are different. He doesn’t have any connection to them; I’m not about to give him one. Besides, he’s not even planning on staying, so what’s the point in delaying the inevitable?”

“You don’t know that, Scott,” Lydia tries to reassure.

“Yes, I do. He told me yesterday. He’s got ideas and plans and offers and none of them revolve around staying in Beacon Hills. I mean, he’s talking New York. London. _Greece_. He’s going to leave again, Lydia. He just doesn’t know how far.”

Lydia doesn’t have much of an answer for that. “That doesn’t mean he won’t help us. We should at least try. We’re grasping at straws here, Scott. Seven bodies have been found; there’s only four more left to go. And we have _nothing_.”

Her frustration is near boiling point. Not because of Scott but because of how helpless she feels in regards to all the dead bodies turning up. “Derek hasn’t found a yew tree,” she continues sharply. “There’s no connection between the victims; the body parts that were taken don’t make enough sense; the witches or whoever they are, they’ve left no trail or clue that we can use to find them, and I’m _tired_, Scott. I just want to _do_ something.”

“I know,” he says quickly, squeezing her hand gently. “I know you are, I am too. But we can’t give up.”

“Then we should ask Stiles,” she stresses.

“No,” Scott says abruptly, before exhaling softly. “Sorry. I just meant, we’re going to figure it out. We always do, Lydia. With or without him.”

Lydia’s shoulders slump. “I wish I could believe that this time.”

Scott cups her cheek gently, trying to reassure her through the touch. “We should get some sleep, okay? Things will look better in the morning.”

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

She doesn’t follow him through to their bedroom right away; rather, she waits until he’s out of sight before she pulls out her phone to send a quick text. She trusts Scott, of course she does, but this is important and she’s willing to go behind his back on this one right now.

**[Lydia, @ 10:46pm]** _Need to talk to you tomorrow. Meet me at Scott’s around one._

“Lydia?” Scott calls from the bedroom. “Are you coming to bed?”

“Just a sec,” she calls back, slipping her phone back into her pocket, and double-checking everything is switched off and all the curtains are closed.

Scott’s in the bathroom when she enters the room, so she drops her phone on the bedside table to keep an eye on it, while she gets changed. Maybe it’s too late to expect a quick reply, or one at all.

“Everything alright?” Scott asks when he returns, the faint tang of mint toothpaste following him through the door.

“Yeah,” Lydia smiles. “Just waiting to use the bathroom.”

“All yours,” Scott lets out a soft yawn as he climbs into bed, leaning over to give her a quick kiss to her cheek. Lydia heads into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

It’s not until she’s slipping between the sheets next to him that she finally gets a response.

**[Stiles, @ 10:59pm]** _sure. I’ll see you then._

*

**February;  
9 years ago.**

_“Okay,” Kiana announces when she enters the lounge. “I have a gift for you, Stiles. For finishing your lessons.”_

_Stiles glances up from the book he’s reading. “Alright. Should I be worried?”_

_“No, no, it’s a good gift. You’re gonna like it. I’ve been working on it for ages.” She waves him through to the kitchen, where there’s a bunch of papers with sigils scrawled on them scattered on the dining table. She picks one specifically from the pile and holds it out to him with an eager smile. “Here.”_

_“What’s this?” he asks, examining it curiously. It’s always interesting to see the sigils that other witches create, and what they’re used for._

_“It’s the sigil I told you about when you first arrived. It’ll let you understand and be understood in any spoken language in the world.”_

_“Seriously? That’s pretty cool.”_

_“I’ve been working on it for years and I think I’ve finally perfected it.” Kiana brandishes a liquid eyeliner pen and moves closer to Stiles so she can draw the sigil behind his ear. “Okay, so I’m gonna talk in another language, but you’re gonna hear me speaking in English. And you’re gonna respond in English but I’m gonna hear it in whatever I language I spoke in.”_

_“Okay.” He feels a slight tingle as the sigil activates._

_“Alright,” Kiana steps back. “I’m gonna start speaking in a different language… now.” She takes a quick second to make the mental switch into another language. “**Alright, tell me how well it’s working. I am currently speaking in French. It is quite a romantic sounding language, it is too bad you cannot hear it**.”_

_“I prefer Spanish,” he jokes lightly. “I mean, it’s working fine for me. It’s kind of trippy, though, I can see your mouth moving one way but the words aren’t matching up? It’s like a bad Japanese dub.”_

_She giggles. “**It is weird. But it works, right?**”_

_“Yeah, it seems to. This is pretty cool. I should get it as a tattoo.” He reaches back to touch the sigil behind his ear._

_“**It won’t be perfect 100 percent of the time, it’s a bit more like an internet translator, but you should hopefully get the rough meaning behind what they’re saying**.”_

_“You really are a language expert, huh?”_

_“I try my best,” she says, switching back to English. “Getting it as a tattoo would be a good idea. Especially since you wouldn’t have much reason to deactivate it, right?”_

_“It’s pretty amazing. My most complex sigil so far is a glamour for my books and here you are, recreating Google Translate.”_

_She blushes. “I’ve been working on it for longer than you’ve been learning magic so try not to be too hard on yourself.”_

_He examines the sigil drawn on the piece of paper. “So it’ll always translate back to English?”_

_“It translates back to the user’s mother tongue, unless they specifically respond or speak in another language. So I was hearing in French because I spoke in French. And you heard in English because it is your first language.”_

_“Awesome. This’ll really come in handy. I have to go to Cuba next month. Which is a bad example because you taught me Spanish. Um, in about six months or so I have to be in… Morocco, where they speak Arabic and another language I can’t remember the name of. So I’ll get to take it on a proper test run.”_

_“Well, you’ll be the first person to use it other than me,” Kiana tells him. “I’d appreciate any feedback, because I’m still not sure it works properly.”_

_“I trust you,” Stiles encourages. It’s not hard to figure out where her low self-esteem comes from the more he’s gotten to know her, but he tries his best to make her feel confident when it comes up in conversation._

_“Thank you,” she blushes again. “But that’s your lessons over with. Those potions I gave you worked really well, and you’re fluent in conversational Polish, Spanish and Hawaiian; and, well, you can’t really be conversational in Latin but you’re generally fluent in it.”_

_“Hey, it’s all thanks to you. I can barely speak English on a good day but somehow, you turned me into a polyglot,” he grins. “That deserves a reward too. We should go out for dinner this week. Maybe a movie? I think there’s some animated thing Allie likes that we could go see.”_

_“I’d like that,” Kiana smiles widely, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss. “We should certainly get as many nights together as possible before you leave. How long have you got left?”_

_“A couple weeks,” Stiles says, “before Ivan is expecting me.”_

_He’s slowly coming to terms with the fact he’s going to have to leave Kiana. He’s not quite felt this kind of attachment before, but unfortunately, his magic studies come first and he can’t afford to dwell on the possibility of sticking around long-term._

_Besides, no matter how hard he tries, there’s a part of him always thinking of Derek Hale, all the way back home, in Beacon Hills. He’s run so far and he still can’t get away._

_Alika comes barrelling into the kitchen at that point, clutching a small toy car in his hands. He tugs at Stiles’ sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Play cars?”_

_“You wanna play cars, Allie-man?” Stiles asks, picking the boy up into his arms. Alika nods energetically, waving the red car in air. “Alright then, we’ll go play cars for a few hours. I think we still have to finish that race from last week, don’t we?”_

_He pokes Alika gently in the tummy, causing the boy to giggle. Kiana smiles warmly at the sight, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the top of Alika’s head._

_“Well, while you two are settling that score, I’ll make a start on tea. How does pizza sound?”_

_“Pizza!” Alika cheers, clapping his hands together and almost dropping his car. “I like pizza.”_

_“I like pizza too,” Stiles grins at Kiana, who laughs and shoos them out the kitchen._

_It’s all so domestic. He’s really gonna miss it when he moves on._

*

**April 29th.**

“Do you wanna talk about it?” is how Felix greets Cora when she opens the door.

“What’s there to talk about?” she responds sullenly, but she steps back to let him in. She hasn’t spoken to anyone since Friday night.

“Scott told us,” Felix admits cautiously. “About your wolf. I thought you might wanna talk about it.”

“That’s what therapy’s for.”

“You’re… you’re going to therapy?”

“No,” she responds shortly, before sighing, “not yet, at least. But Derek got me an appointment. With one a few miles away. On Wednesday.”

“Can you talk to them about this?” Felix gestures at the two of them.

“Yeah,” Cora nods slowly. “Derek reached out to a supernatural therapist he used in New York for the referral. I’m just… not sure they’d understand anyway.”

Felix glances at the floor, scuffing his foot loosely. “I mean, maybe. I don’t really know what it’s like to lose my wolf side… but I do understand the idea of feeling weak by someone else’s hand. And I’m not the only one.”

She shrugs heavily. “It’s not really the same.”

“Doesn’t always have to be,” Felix points out. “Remember how we met Sammi? And I still talk to Isaac about… my old pack. Neither of them went through what I did in the same way but they still kind of… understood how it felt, better than anyone else.”

“It’s not just about feeling weak,” Cora counters. “It’s about feeling incomplete. Do you know what it’s like to be missing a part of yourself? To wake up every morning and have this emptiness inside, to go to bed at night with a hole inside?”

“No, but I can try, and isn’t that the point? No therapist is going to be able to understand every client’s situation personally, but they can still try, and they can still help you deal with it too. My therapist did.”

“You go to therapy?” now it’s Cora’s turn to look surprised.

“I used to, for a while,” Felix looks at the floor, embarrassed. “It helped, and they didn’t even know about werewolves. I told them my parents were abusive. It was close enough.”

“You don’t go anymore?”

“Well, after a while, there was only so much I could tell her without revealing the supernatural. And at that point, I kind of found more comfort from the pack, anyway. I didn’t know there were any in the know; I never really told anyone.”

Cora tries not to focus too much on the implication that he’s telling her now. “Why not?”

Felix shrugs slightly. “Didn’t want anyone to look down on me for it. I mean, I know now that you wouldn’t, but at the time I was trying to prove myself worthy of the place Scott offered me and I thought therapy would reflect badly on me.”

“And it really helped?” Cora raises her eyebrows doubtfully.

“I mean, I never told her the whole truth, so probably not as much as it could have? But she helped me deal with some of my thought processes and nightmares and stuff. I still use a few of the coping techniques she helped me learn sometimes. When I need them.”

Cora sighs, running a hand through her hair and tugging lightly on the ends. “I just… I don’t even know where to start. I don’t even know how I feel about this. I mean, nothing’s changed. Except my understanding of it all. I still don’t have my wolf.”

“Well, they’ll help with that too,” Felix assures, guiding them both to sit down on the couch. “That’s kind of their whole job, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cora shrugs. “I just never really saw the point. For me, at least,” she adds hastily. “It’s not like talking about it will help my wolf side, anyway.”

“Is it permanent then?”

“Might as well be. Stiles says he can’t fix it without knowing what went wrong in the first place. Something to do with the Darach and the way she cast the stupid curse. And he can’t exactly find out anymore. So chances are I’m stuck like this.”

“Is there no other option?” Felix asks, feeling desperate on Cora’s behalf. He’s seen how hard this has been on her all these years; especially recently with the sacrifices and all the attacks on the territory. He just wishes he knew better how to support her.

“He said… He said he could turn me human.”

“Is that what you want?”

Cora turns away, twisting her fingers together. “I don’t know what I want. For years, I’ve been in this kind of limbo, not knowing whether I’d ever fully heal or not. And then a couple days ago, I finally felt hopeful. Like there might have been a solution, an end to _this_,” she gestures to herself. “And now… It might be my only option, really. I can survive without my wolf side. I just don’t know if I want to.”

He’s not sure what that means. That if she can’t get her wolf back, or has to give it up for good, she’ll try to… end it? The thought worries him.

“Well, that’s what therapy’s for,” he says, cringing slightly at the flat statement. “And I’ll support you, no matter what. Your wolf is a part of you, but it doesn’t make you who you are, Cora. You’ll still be the same person to me, werewolf or otherwise.”

Cora flushes slightly, picking at her jeans, until Felix reaches over and slips their hands together, entwining their fingers gently. He’s equally shy, but he smiles encouragingly at her.

“I hope so,” she murmurs in response, leaning in to press a kiss to his warm cheek.

“So, um, do you wanna go get some coffee or something?” he asks, deciding a change of topic would probably do some good.

“Nah, let’s just chill out here,” Cora shifts position on the sofa, tucking her legs up and leaning against him, propping her head on his shoulder. “Just, uh, wanna hide for a while longer.”

Felix smiles, reaching for the TV remote with his free hand. “Okay, what about watching something? There’s this, uh, kids show I’ve kind of become invested in, if you want something a bit mindless but also weirdly interesting to focus on?”

Cora snuggles into him a little, relishing in his company. “Sounds great. And maybe we can get coffee or something later.” She does need a little more time to deal with her newest issues; but with Felix by her side, they seem less daunting. And maybe he does understand her as well as he says he does.

“Sure, if you want,” Felix wraps an arm around her shoulders, flicking through the channels.

Cora thinks she does. As long as he comes too. The world just seems… a little less hard to live in, when he’s next to her.

*

“Jennifer won’t like this.”

Lydia looks over at Derek, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“She thinks… She thinks Stiles might be working against us.”

“Well, what do you think?”

Derek hesitates a moment, mulling over her question before responding. “I think she makes a compelling argument.”

Lydia sits down on the couch, dropping the various notes and files they have about the sacrifices onto the coffee table. Derek lingers at the edge of the room, a lot more concerned with what they’re going to do.

“Scott’s not gonna like this either,” she admits. “But that’s why we’re not asking for their permission, right?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“About asking Stiles or about doing it behind Scott’s back?”

“Either. Both.”

“Look, I’m not… I’m not happy that I’m going against Scott’s wishes. But I’m tired of the dead bodies piling up. Stiles might have something, something that could help us.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Lydia sighs, massaging her forehead gently. “Then at least we’ll know for sure.”

“And if he _is_ working against us?”

“Then I guess we’re screwed either way.” Lydia hates this. Not just going behind Scott’s back but the very fact that the situation has driven them to this. The sacrifices have been piling up: seven people have been killed so far, and the last few have slipped under their radar, due to the vampire attacks.

They’re running out of time, and Lydia can only take so much.

There’s a soft knock on the front door. She exchanges a quick glance with Derek before he goes to open it.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles looks at first surprised, and then faintly confused at Derek inviting him into Scott’s apartment. “Lydia said she needed to talk?”

Derek gestures him towards the lounge. Lydia glances up when Stiles enters and smiles apprehensively at him.

“Hey, thanks for coming.”

“Well, it sounded urgent. Uh, where’s Scott?”

“He’s not here,” Lydia answers hesitantly. “He doesn’t know that we’re asking you.”

“Okay, should I be worried? Is this gonna get me in trouble or something?” Stiles glances between her and Derek. “Like, I mean, he’s made it pretty clear where his boundaries lie, and there’s only so many I’m willing to overstep.”

“If he gets mad, it’ll be at us, not you,” she assures. Derek gives a short nod in agreement. “Listen, we need your help.”

Stiles hesitantly moves into the room to sit in the seat across from her. “Okay?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but we’ve been dealing with some unusual deaths lately,” Lydia starts. “And you’ve been around, you’ve seen things and learned things and maybe you’ll know something that can help us.”

Stiles isn’t sure if he should admit that he already knows about the deaths, so he settles for a gentle shrug. “Start from the beginning.”

“Well, almost exactly year ago on April 12th, we had an unusual disappearance in town. A teacher, by the name of Jeffery Williams, disappeared from his home at exactly midnight and wasn’t seen again. All that was left was a weird explosion radius, an odd scorch mark on the floor and the bloom of a mandrake flower. Since then, we’ve had one disappearance a month, every month, always at midnight, always on the 12th, except for this month.”

Where was Stiles a year ago? London, he thinks. Packing up to leave for America.

“How’d you know it was exactly midnight?” he asks.

“All the clocks in his house were broken and they all said midnight. We assumed it was a result of the apparent explosion, one that we think was magic.” Lydia pushes the papers on the table towards him.

“And you’ve had eleven of these?”

“All of them exactly the same,” Derek finally speaks. “Except for the scorch mark. It looks different at every scene.”

“We didn’t… We didn’t figure out about these disappearances until they were almost halfway through,” Lydia admits. “Isaac was called out to the second one and then the fourth and it was after that that we started putting them together.”

“We were supposed to have one this month,” Derek adds. “There’s been a strong theme of twelve. But they’ve only taken eleven people.”

“I’m not sure how I can help,” Stiles says, still cautious about how much to reveal. “Without a recent scene to examine, I’m not sure I’d be able to pick anything up that can help you.”

“That’s not what we’re asking for help with,” Lydia says. “On the 9th, we found a body.”

Stiles flicks through some of the photos they must have photocopied from his Dad. He’s already seen the photos that Deaton had, but there are more angles this time. The scorch marks, as Derek had pointed out, do catch his attention. There’s something important about them.

“It was Jeffery Williams, our first disappearance,” Lydia continues, when she receives no response. “He’d been sacrificed, as far as we can tell. His wrists and ankles and neck were bound with some kind of plant; Deaton said it was wormwood. There was also a brand on his chest: a triquetra. It’s a Celtic symbol.”

“I know,” Stiles responds oddly. “Lots of people use Celtic symbolism. It won’t lead anywhere unless you’re looking in a specific direction.”

“We know,” Derek mutters sullenly.

“What kind of specific direction are you thinking about?” Lydia asks.

“There are certain people more inclined to use Celtic symbolism than others. Magic users. Like witches and Druids.”

“That doesn’t really help. Unless you’re implying Deaton is somehow connected.”

“Deaton’s might not be the only Druid in town,” Stiles points out.

Derek frowns deeply at him. “You’re the only witch, though.”

“How do you know? If that was true, these sacrifices might not be happening. I haven’t met any other witches and there aren’t any connected to the Nemeton, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any at all. This town is big and there are ways to hide.”

“Well, how do you know there’s another Druid?” Derek fires right back.

“I don’t, but there could be,” Stiles lies easily; the perks of having glamour sigils. “My point is, you guys rely too much on your noses and it becomes a weakness in situations like this.”

“Can we focus?” Lydia interrupts. “Okay, so, so far, we’ve had seven of the eleven missing people turn up as sacrifices. They’ve turned up every three days: killed at midnight and, interestingly enough, consistently found at midday. Always.”

Stiles sifts through the notes they have. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever come across before.” And yet there’s something glaringly familiar about it. “Any connection between the victims or anything that might have been a reason for being picked?”

“Nothing we can figure out,” Lydia shakes her head. “They all have different jobs, they’re different age groups, no common physical characteristics or history, most of them have never met. Jeffery Williams was a teacher, one was a firefighter, one was a musician. Uh, Isaiah Lee, he was found on Friday and he was a tailor. And no, as far as we can tell, none of the other victims were ever a customer more than once.”

“This is interesting. So it’s not like last time.”

“No, not as far as we can tell.”

“There’s something else weird about the bodies,” Derek inputs, nudging Lydia.

“Right, yeah, all the bodies were missing body parts. Weird body parts.”

“Define weird?” Stiles says.

“Like they don’t make sense. Some of them do, on their own? But a lot of them don’t in the whole context, so we can’t figure out the relevance. For example, the first sacrifice was a teacher and they took his brain. The third was a firefighter and they took her spine. But the fifth was a baker and they took her tongue. They’ve also taken eyes, ears, hands…”

“Frankenstein,” Stiles murmurs, looking over the notes made about the victim’s bodies.

“That’s what we thought,” Lydia immediately jumps on his response. “That they were trying to build a body. We wondered if the body parts represented a specific aspect of the victim’s life: the teacher was knowledgeable so take his brain. But that doesn’t justify something like,” she pauses to glance at one of the papers on the table, “the hands of a tailor. Like, what would that represent? Being good with sewing?”

Stiles frowns. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Something does seem inconsistent.”

“Well, that’s the other thing. We haven’t been able to get past the inconsistency of the number of victims. Like Derek said, only eleven people have gone missing. But they’ve been very specific about the use of the number 12.”

“Well, the Sheriff has a theory about that, actually,” Derek interjects, catching both of their attentions. “He suggested that if they were building a body, the perfect body, then the final sacrifice could be whoever’s behind this. A way for them to be reborn into this new body.”

“Oh,” Lydia sits up a little. “That actually makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” Stiles agrees, but he’s squinting at the photos of the bodies. There’s something, a thought just out of grasp in his head.

“Except none of these theories help us find them. Which is partly why we’re asking you. If you have any ideas what this ritual is, maybe we can find a way to stop it before they finish it and then deal with finding them later.”

“What are the berries on the body?” Stiles indicates to one of the photos. He remembers asking Deaton about them, but he hadn’t followed up on them.

Lydia glances at Derek. “They’re from a yew tree. So far it’s our only clue.”

“Have you found any yew trees in Beacon Hills?”

“Derek’s been combing the Preserve,” she offers.

“I haven’t found anything yet,” Derek says. “But the Preserve is quite wild.”

“Have you tried the graveyard?” Stiles asks. “You can often find them planted there. Yew trees symbolize death and resurrection.”

“No, but we could look later,” she says. “Anything’s worth a shot.”

“It fits with the Sheriff’s theory,” Derek points out. “That the witches or whoever, they want to be reborn into this body they’re building. Death and resurrection.”

Lydia’s eyes brighten with enthusiasm. “You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I was so busy assuming the yew tree was just a location marker for their sacrifices, I never considered that the use of it might be relevant in itself.”

“It’s not obvious if you’re not looking for it. This is the kind of stuff that comes up when you’re dealing with spellcraft,” Stiles says. “The symbolism of plants and trees.”

“Can you think of anything else that might help us?” Lydia asks. “Anything at all?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles murmurs. The thought is on the tip of his tongue but he can’t formulate it. He’s missing something. “Can you read out the names of the disappearances in order?”

“Uh, sure,” Lydia fumbles for her notebook. “Okay, Jeffery Williams, Terry Morgan, Leah Scott, Stella Lopez, Kelsi Jones, Adrianna Morgan, Isaiah Lee: those are the ones we’ve found so far. And Ben Turner, Elizabeth Adams, Alexander Philips, and Giselle Carter are the ones still missing. We’re, uh, expecting to find Ben Turner tomorrow.”

“There doesn’t appear to be any connection,” Derek says.

“No,” Stiles agrees. “I thought that maybe their initials might have spelled something or their names could have been some kind of clue. Names can be important in certain rituals. Okay, what about all their jobs?”

“Teacher, magician, firefighter, photographer, musician, baker, tailor,” Lydia flips through a few pages of her notebook. “Fitness coach, guidance counsellor, electrician and doctor. The magician is the one sacrifice that seems out of place. All the other victims, their body parts had relevance to their jobs, even in odd ways; but Terry Morgan, the magician and the second sacrifice, was missing his face.”

Stiles blinks at that. He looks down at the papers scattered across the table, and hurriedly sifts through until he finds the photos of Terry Morgan’s body. This must have been what Deaton was referring to all those days ago, when he’d mentioned one of the sacrifices having a disfigured face.

He stares at the photo and he can almost feel everything slotting into place.

“The face of a magician,” he says slowly. “The face…”

“It’s weird, right?” Lydia expresses readily. “Faces aren’t what you’d normally associate with magicians. Trust me, we’ve argued about it plenty.”

“Can you,” Stiles suddenly sounds off as he chews anxiously on his bottom lip, “can you tell me the body parts taken in order?”

“Sure,” Lydia glances at Derek, who shares a similar discomfort on his face at Stiles’ sudden change in demeanour. “The brain, the face, the spine, the eyes…”

“The ears,” Stiles says at the exact same time as her, causing Lydia to cut off in the middle of her sentence. “The mouth,” he continues, staring hard at the table. “The hands.”

“Right, yeah–”

Her words die out when Stiles keeps going with, “The femur.”

“What?”

“The wisdom teeth,” Stiles doesn’t appear to have heard her. “The blood. The heart.”

Lydia exchanges a shocked glance with Derek, her eyes widening with apprehension. “You recognize it. You know what the ritual is, don’t you?”

Stiles doesn’t answer for a long moment, gently rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Stiles,” Derek touches his shoulder to get his attention. “Tell us.”

“I–I have to go make a phone call, I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just quickly stands and walks out the apartment. There’s a stiffness to his movements, as if he’s only just holding back from running out instead.

“Stiles, wait!” Lydia calls after him, but her only response is the sound of the door closing. “I guess we wait for him to come back then.”

Derek sits down on the edge of the vacated seat.

“How much longer do you think we should wait for him?” he asks, after Stiles has been gone for twenty minutes.

“I’m sure he’ll be right back,” Lydia assures calmly, as if she hasn’t been tapping her foot with anxiety the whole time.

“That’s what he said twenty minutes ago,” Derek says sourly. “How long does it take to make a phone call?”

“Maybe it’s a really important phone call,” Lydia points out. “I mean, if it’s about this,” she gestures to the notes on the table, “I say we should give him all the time he needs.”

“Or Jennifer’s right and he’s actually away to warn his partners about us.”

Before Lydia can answer that, there’s a sound at the door. Both of them sit up in anticipation but Lydia’s face falls when her fiancé is the one that walks through the door.

“Hey,” Scott greets, before stopping in his tracks as he takes in the scene in front of him. “What’s going on here?”

“We asked Stiles for help with the sacrifices,” Lydia says immediately. “I know you didn’t want to, but I thought it was worth a shot.”

“Oh.” Scott doesn’t look as upset as she might have expected, or even as disappointed. No, he just looks resigned as he shrugs his jacket off. “And?”

“We told him everything we knew and,” Lydia glances at Derek for support, “we think he recognized it. He got really weird and then he went to make a phone call. He… He listed off body parts we don’t know.”

Scott frowns slightly. “What body parts?”

“Well, we were telling him which ones have been missing so far, and then he added on… four more. We only have four victims left. Uh, he said…” Lydia takes a minute to remember, “the femur, the wisdom teeth? I think? The blood and…”

“The heart,” Derek supplies when Lydia trails off.

“So he knows what body parts are going to be taken next?” Scott clarifies.

“It sounded like it,” Derek nods.

“He also told us to check out the graveyard for yew trees,” Lydia continues. “Apparently you can find them planted there because they symbolize death.”

“And resurrection,” Derek adds. “Which fits with the Sheriff’s theory.”

Scott isn’t sure why he’d been so resistant to asking Stiles for help. He can’t really remember right now, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. Lydia asked him anyway, and now it seems like they might have a new lead. A proper one.

“Where is he now?”

“He went out to make a phone call,” Derek says, his mouth turning down. “That was about twenty minutes ago. We’re still waiting for him to return.”

Before he can say anything else, the front door opens again and all three turn around to see Stiles stepping back into the room. His face is carefully neutral, his posture quite tense, but it doesn’t escape Scott’s notice that he’s fiddling with the sleeve of his red hoodie.

“Well?”

“I was wrong,” he says bluntly. “I don’t recognize the ritual. I was just getting things mixed up. I don’t think I can help you.”

Lydia kind of slumps with defeat, but Derek turns sharp eyes on the younger man.

“Then why list off the extra body parts? The only way you could have known about them is if you knew what the ritual was.”

“Lots of rituals use body parts,” Stiles responds; there’s a very deliberate blandness to his tone and Derek _knows_ he’s hiding something. “None I use myself but I learned about a few once. There’s a series of spells where you symbolically draw power from each body part to give yourself strength for a while. Draw power from the brain to increase your learning speed. Draw power from the spine to give yourself courage. Stronger perception, better hearing and so on.”

“What about the face?” Derek asks, trying to catch him out.

“Makes you more attractive to other people,” Stiles says without missing a beat and it’s impossible to tell if he’s lying.

“And that’s all?” Scott presses carefully.

Stiles shrugs. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“It’s fine,” Scott says after a beat. Something seems off with Stiles right now.

“Then is it okay if I leave?” Stiles’ voice catches in his throat, and he quickly coughs to cover it up.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks; all three of them are looking at him with varying looks of concern – Lydia – to suspicion – Derek.

“Yeah,” and he sounds fine now, if a little detached. “I just promised my Dad I would make him dinner tonight so I should probably head out and pick up the ingredients.”

“Alright,” Scott sighs. “We’ll catch you later, then?”

Stiles nods stiffly and doesn’t wait to say goodbye to anyone else, just quickly turns and heads back out the way he came in.

Scott turns to look at his pack mates. “Well?”

“It was worth a shot,” Lydia quickly defends. “At least now we know, right?”

He sighs again. “Yeah, I suppose so.

Behind them, Derek just squints suspiciously at the way Stiles had left.

*

“Stiles,” Noah smiles in surprise when he opens the door to his son standing on his front step. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“I know but I thought we could eat dinner together,” Stiles holds up his carrier bags.

“Well, I’ll never say no to anything you’re cooking,” Noah gestures him in, before noticing that he looks a little despondent in the light. “Everything okay?”

Stiles smiles brightly, but it seems stiff under his Dad’s scrutiny. “Never better, Pops. Just hungry. I’ve been thinking about what I’m cooking the whole way here.”

His Dad laughs, all concern forgotten. “Well then, who am I to keep you waiting outside all night? Come on in.”

Stiles steps into the warmth of his childhood home and, on impulse, drops his shopping to pull his Dad into a tight hug.

“Whoa,” Noah hugs him back. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles assures, a little unsteadily. “I’m just happy to see you.”

*

“Thought there already was a hunter in this city.”

“There is,” William nods as he slows the car to a stop at a red light. “It’s an Argent.”

“So then why are we here?”

“Because Argent sided with the wolves.”

Martin sucks in a sharp breath of air. “Damn. It’s always the good ones that fall.”

“If they fell, they weren’t that good in the first place,” William rolls his eyes. “Where’s that motel you picked out?”

“Turn left here,” Martin shakes out the map for another look. “But the Argents had a legacy. Come on, man, these were the stories we grew up on. The Argents are one of the oldest hunting bloodlines in the world and they threw it all away for some teenage werewolf?”

William snorts. “A True Alpha, if you believe the stories. I always thought Chris was a little soft, anyway. I’ve been waiting for this call ever since Gerard went down.”

“So what else do we know about this pack?”

“16 members, 8 ‘wolves,” William recites from his notes. “7 humans, including the disgraced Chris Argent; _and_ the Sheriff, if you believe those stories too. One of them is a former werewolf. And the last member is a Banshee, supposedly appointed as the Emissary. There’s also an Omega in town: Peter Hale, brother of Talia Hale, from the Alpha Hall of Fame. And apparently there’s some kind of veterinarian who doubles as a Druid advisor to the pack.”

“_Former_ werewolf?” Martin looks up from the map. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“Didn’t ask, didn’t care,” William mutters, taking another left at his brother’s direction.

“So what’s the big deal about these guys, anyway? They don’t strike me as anything special. Except maybe the Banshee. Aren’t they supposed to be neutral parties?”

“They have two Alphas,” William stresses. “The True Alpha teenager, not that he’s much of a teenager anymore; and Talia Hale’s first born son. We’ve never dealt with that before. Twice the power.”

“Twice the fun, if you ask me,” Martin grumbles.

“Yeah, well, both of them are off-limits. We can take out the rest of the pack but these witches want us to leave both Alphas alone. One of the humans in the pack is apparently an inside source for these magic freaks too, Jennifer Black or something like that. We’re not supposed to hunt her either but if she gets caught in the collateral, I won’t shed any tears.”

“Any other conditions?” Martin snarks bitterly.

“There’s another magic user in the town. He’s not a part of the pack, but he’s associated closely enough with them. We’re not supposed to even look at him funny. Apparently he’s got something they need or some shit like that, I don’t know, I stopped listening.”

“Why are we even taking order from these magic freaks anyway? Why not just go in, eliminate the pack and be done with the whole situation?”

“Because the price they offered us is too good to pass up,” slowing at another red light, William takes a second to pull up a text exchange on his phone, passing it across to his brother.

Martin reads it with widening eyes. “Holy shit, is this for real?”

William shrugs. “It’s worth the risk to find out. And if it isn’t, well, we’ll just kill them all. No skin off our backs.”

“Jesus,” Martin whispers almost in awe, before getting distracted by a flashing light up the road. “Oh, there’s the motel. It’s called something stupid like Moonlight Motel but it’s got the best positioning.”

“To what?” William frowns as he pulls into the parking lot.

“To the best bars in town. I could go for a beer.”

“You could always go for a beer.”

“I’m thirsty,” Martin shrugs, as William rolls his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. Go get drunk. _I’ll_ figure out how to go against this pack without risking the wrath of a couple of magic freaks.”

“Great, sounds like a plan,” Martin hops out the car. “Call me when you’ve got something.”

“Sure,” William mutters sarcastically, packing away all the loose weapons and paperwork scattered in the car. “I’ll get right on that.” He rolls his eyes again as his brother saunters away across the parking lot. “Idiot.”

*

**May;  
9 years ago.**

_“Healing is not an easy ability to teach,” Ivan tells him on his first day in Cuba. “It will take time and patience to learn. And even then, it could take years to master.”_

_Ivan is an older man with a weathered face and warm eyes, if slightly reserved. He has a young daughter, Carlotta. She’s around 13 years old and spends a lot of her time texting on her phone and hanging out with her friends. The only time Stiles really sees her is at dinner: apparently she never misses a family dinner._

_“Many healer mages learn to heal themselves first,” Ivan demonstrates by pricking the tip of his thumb with a needle. The small pinprick glows a pale yellow and then vanishes. “But you are an elemental mage and you are unlikely to achieve this. You’ll only really be able to heal other people and animals.”_

_He lives in the middle of a city, which makes a change. Most of Stiles’ previous teachers have preferred the solace of nature to the hustle and bustle of downtown. It’s also a very community-based area. There’s this constant hum of noise in the background: traffic, kids playing in the street, music, local food stalls. Ivan takes time out of his day to go and visit his neighbours, and Carlotta definitely splits her time between her school friends and the ones who live on her street. Stiles has already learned more than few new cooking techniques from the various grandmothers in the neighbourhood._

_“Unfortunately, I cannot go around and injure many people and animals, just so you can learn how to heal them. That would be cruel.”_

_The sadness of leaving Kiana and Alika behind lessens every day. It’s always a little sad when he has to move on but he thinks it was more prominent this time because he’d bonded quite well with the six year old in particular._

_He’s never considered himself to be particularly good with kids but it had been nice, the way Alika had opened up to him over time. But there’s a part of him that’s always aware that nothing will ever really be long-term as long as he’s stuck on Derek. Nothing will ever really come close to being considered **home**._

_“Instead, a good way to learn the healing ability is to practice on plants,” Ivan picks up a small potted plant from his window display and hands it to Stiles. “However, as an earth mage, you will have to put in the effort to differentiate between your abilities, as you are also capable with healing a plant with your earth magic, correct?”_

_“Yeah,” Stiles takes the plant and examines it carefully. He’s never had to shut off one ability in order to learn another, so this will definitely be an interesting challenge._

_“I have heard you are quite adept at using magic, however, and you may surprise me yet.” Ivan takes a small pair of scissors and cuts halfway into one of the leaves. “You will start by healing this leaf.”_

_It takes him more than a few attempts, which spread across more than a few days, before he sees any change in his powers. He keeps healing the leaf with his earth magic, and Ivan keeps snipping another leaf for him to try. _

_“You must focus,” Ivan encourages. “Push your magic to close the wound.”_

_The difference between earth and healing magic is like… if he had to describe it? When he uses his earth abilities to heal the plant, he’s drawing the magic through the tree from the roots, essentially encouraging the tree to grow and fix the damage. But when he’s healing, he has to use his magic to, in a way, undo the damage by **rebuilding** the leaf; sealing the cut closed and knitting the matter back together_

_It doesn’t really make sense, he thinks, healing leaves at all; but magic doesn’t generally make sense anyway._

_It takes him a week before he successfully manages to heal the leaf with healing magic._

_“This is good,” Ivan nods. “Remember what it feels like. That will help you to do it again.”_

_Stiles turns 21 a month after he arrives. He’s only 3 hours ahead of California, so he stays up until 3am so he can pretend to toast midnight with his Dad. Carlotta makes him a messy cake for dinner but it tastes great; he thanks her with a laugh before blowing out his candles and she shrugs and rolls her eyes with all the adolescent flippancy she can muster; but he can see the smile underneath._

_And at night, when he’s alone, and he wishes himself a happy birthday by giving into the desire to summon another black wolf with red eyes and wonder what its fur would feel like under his fingers? Well, no one has to know but him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is my Sciles showing? bc I kind of ship that now lmao.
> 
> alas, while there is no Sciles pairing in this particular fic, I am contemplating a small Sciles AU of this. maybe.
> 
> anyway, this is more of a filler chapter: the main purpose was to return to the original plot of the fic, which is the sacrifices, with Lydia and Derek asking Stiles for help. it was only supposed to be 15k words; it is not. but it's also got some larger world-building with Stiles bringing out his own Bestiary! me, ignoring Teen Wolf lore and establishing my own? more likely than you think.
> 
> also kudos to user [@Secret198331](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret198331) who figured out my plan for including Stiles in the Scydia wedding as the officiant.
> 
> ah, I wish I could have written more Stiles and Alika scenes.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated. This work is unbeta'ed and, while I do proofread, I'm not perfect so I might have missed a mistake, particularly with my tenses; let me know if you spot something that doesn't make sense, and I will fix it.
> 
> [Circle Backwards](https://youtu.be/6sqeDBKVOSI).
> 
> [TUMBLR](https://fri3ndlyskies.tumblr.com/) || [ YOUTUBE PLAYLIST](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLXcH6k0S491D0jpMP3AhObZUXIwwyETbo)
> 
> || **I do not grant permission for anyone to host my work anywhere other than _archiveofourown.org_. I do not support the monetization of my work through third-party sources or apps. Please respect this.** ||


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